


Desire

by captnhufflepuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Harry Potter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gay Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mirror of Erised, Nightmares, Patronus, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, harry has a cat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captnhufflepuff/pseuds/captnhufflepuff
Summary: After the war Hermione manages to convince Harry to go back to Hogwarts for his eighth year. Expecting an uneventful year of classes and rooming with the other Gryffindor boys, he’s surprised when McGonagall tells him he’ll be sharing a room with Draco Malfoy.Now Harry has to get through a year of arguments and awkward silences. Or he would, if Malfoy would stop ignoring him and moping around the castle alone.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 36
Kudos: 191





	1. Chapter 1

Harry stirred awake to the feeling of a wet nose pressing against his cheek. He brought a hand up to brush the feeling away, burrowing further into his pillow to hide his face. He had almost drifted back into a sleep filled with broomsticks and snitches, when the nose returned to the back of his neck, nudging more insistently. 

“Go away,” he said into the pillow, voice heavy with sleep.

The only reply he received was a meow and the soft pat of a paw. With a resigned groan Harry shifted onto his back and grabbed the ball of fluff that had fallen to the side from his movements. “Remind me why I kept you?” he asked, as he wrapped his arms around his needy cat, hugging her to his chest. Instead of curling up on top of him like she usually would, she wriggled free and meowed loudly at him.

He hadn’t intended on getting a cat. He never particularly liked them, but when a kitten started following him home from his daily runs and started sleeping on his doorstep, he couldn’t exactly refuse to let her in. She was so skinny and her big green eyes were hard to say no to, so Harry had found any leftovers he had in his almost empty fridge and let her eat as much as she wanted. Then he had asked Hermione if she wanted a pet since he knew she liked cats. She had agreed to take her off his hands but when she came to pick her up, she had escaped her clutches as soon as she tried to take her out the door, running back to Harry every time. Hermione had been more offended by the rejection than she had let on.

In the end he decided, or was forced really, to keep her. He had to admit she was good company. It got kind of lonely living in Grimmauld Place on his own, it was a lot of space for just one person. Hermione tried to convince him to decorate the house to make it feel more homely but he couldn't find the motivation. He didn't plan on staying there for long anyway, it was just convenient for now. He had connected the building to electricity though. He didn't care if the wizarding world refused to use it, he wanted to watch TV when he got bored. Mr Weasley had been beside himself when Harry had let him use the remote when he'd invited him and the other Weasley's round for dinner. 

But now he had someone to talk to, even if the conversations were very one sided, if you didn’t count the meows he sometimes got in response. She reminded him a lot of Dobby. Maybe it was her eyes or maybe it was the way she had inserted herself into Harry's life without his permission. 

Harry had always been bad at naming things. He had sat in his dreary kitchen at the table, watching his new kitten eat from the bowl of food he had brought for her and tried to think of a good name. After about five minutes he had already given up and slumped back in his chair. His eyes had settled on the salt and pepper shakers sitting in the middle of his wooden kitchen table and thought, that’s as good as anything.

“What? What’s the matter?” Harry asked her, even though he knew he wouldn’t get a reply. Pepper jumped off the bed and ran across the room until she was standing beside Harry’s trunk. The trunk that he had spent the past week packing full of everything he’d need for his eighth year at Hogwarts.

Oh shit. He threw his covers aside, getting out of the bed so fast, stars appeared around his vision. “What time is it?” He grabbed his glasses from his bedside table and shoved them on so he could see the clock on his wall. 10:04 am. The train would be leaving at 11 and he still had to finish packing. 

“Idiot. Why didn’t I finish this yesterday?” he muttered to himself as he hurried to throw more clothes and books into the trunk. Pepper watched smugly from the doorway, her tail waiving from side to side. “Shut up,” he told her.

It took him ten minutes to finish and then another five to dig out and put on the clothes he had chosen to wear on the train and accidentally packed with everything else. By the time he had eaten breakfast and stuffed everything into the taxi he had called (his trunk was too big for apparation), it was almost 10:30. It usually took around 25 minutes to get to Kings Cross station from his house and then he had to actually get to the platform. He didn’t want a repeat of 2nd year and he had been looking forward to his last journey on the Hogwarts Express.

Pepper padded along at his feet as he rushed through the station, finally arriving at the archway between platforms 9 and 10 just 3 minutes before departure. He swiped Pepper up and placed her on top of his trunk so he could run head first through the wall, emerging on the other side to a platform full of parents. There were almost no students still on the platform, most of them already seated on the train.

“Harry!” a familiar voice shouted. His eyes searched up and down the train until they found Hermione leaning out of one of the doorways half way down the train, waving him over. “Why are you so late?” She looked somewhere between annoyed and worried as he reached her.

“Sorry! I overslept.” Hermione took Pepper when Harry passed her over so he could carry his trunk. “Is everyone else here?” 

“Yeah. Me and Ron have got a compartment down here.”

As Hermione lead Harry through the train carriages, he noticed the other students watching him through the glass of their compartment doors. Some pretended not to be looking but others, mainly the younger students, openly stared with wide eyes. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised by this reaction but it was always weird to have so many eyes on him. Plus, he had spent the last few months since the war hiding from the wizarding world so he had almost forgotten that he was even famous.

“Finally! What took you so long? We were starting to think you'd changed your mind,” Ron said when Hermione stopped and slid open the door to their compartment. 

“He overslept.”

“I would have been even later if Pepper hadn’t woken me up,” Harry said as he shoved his trunk under his seat and sat down with a sigh. The train slowly started to move as Harry got settled. “Turns out she’s actually useful for something.”

“She doesn’t need to be useful, she’s so cute,” Hermione said, cuddling the cat even closer to her chest. Pepper purred and closed her eyes, apparently deciding she liked Hermione now.

“We were talking about who’s going to be back this year,” Ron said. “Neville, Dean and Seamus are a few doors down but I didn’t get to see anyone else.”

“All the Gryffindors are back and I think about half of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs,” Hermione said, because of course she knew. Harry wasn’t going to come back, he didn't exactly enjoy school. But then Ron told him that Hermione had convinced him to go and he hadn’t known what else to do with himself. He could have started his training to be an Auror, the Ministry had offered him numerous times, but he didn’t wanted to go without Ron. Besides, he’d been having second thoughts about being an Auror. “I’m not sure about the Slytherins, but I’m pretty sure I saw Narcissa Malfoy out on the platform.”

Harry’s attention was piqued at the sound of Malfoy’s name.

“Malfoy’s coming back?” he asked, sounding slightly more interested then he had intended. They didn’t seem to notice however as they just grimaced and nodded in answer. 

“Yeah, can you believe it? We have to spend another year with him.” Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about Malfoy anymore. He was still a pompous git as far as Harry knew, but he’d defended him at his trial for a reason. He believed the other boy felt guilty about what he had been a part of and wanted to be better. But that didn’t mean Harry would be happy to see him again. 

“It’s not that bad Ron, you won’t even have to talk to him.” Hermione rolled her eyes. That was true, Harry thought, at least he wouldn’t have to speak to him and he doubted Malfoy would be in any hurry to speak to him either.

“But I’ll still have to look at his annoying face,” Ron complained, making Harry laugh.

—

Standing in the middle of the new 8th year common room, Harry gaped up at Professor McGonagall. “You have to be joking.”

“I am not and I don’t want to hear any complaining, Mr Potter,” McGonagall said sternly. “I have made my decision and it is not going to change.”

“Please just let me switch with literally anyone else,” Harry lowered his voice, all too aware of Malfoy’s presence behind him. Still, he heard Malfoy scoff and could practically feel him roll his eyes. Harry wasn't sure why he was offended, he knew Malfoy didn't want to share a room with him just as much as Harry didn't want to.

Everyone else had gone to their rooms to unpack, leaving only Harry, holding Pepper, Malfoy and McGonagall standing in the middle of the common room. Hermione had been right, about half of their year had returned, the amount of Gryffindors making up for the lack of Slytherins. Malfoy, Pansy and Blaise were the only Slytherins to come back. They had stood awkwardly at the back of the group as McGonagall read off the names of who would be sharing a room with who. Every student was sharing a room with someone form a different house. McGonagall said they had decided the house system caused too much rivalry between students. New students were still being sorted into houses but they were separated by year for their dormitories and common rooms. The eighth year common room was very similar to the old Gryffindor one but with neutral colours. It was a large circular room with a few archways that led to the dorm rooms and there was a huge fireplace with lots of sofas circled around it.

“I don’t see any reason why you two can’t share a room. You are both adults and I hope you are mature enough to be civil with each other. And Mr Malfoy knows well enough that any harm he causes you will result in expulsion. You will be fine Harry.” He was sure the pointed look McGonagall gave Malfoy was meant as a warning, though he could have been imagining it.

He turned to see Malfoy clench his jaw, clearly offended. Once again rolling his eyes, Malfoy picked up his trunk and started up the stairs that lead to their new room. Harry was expecting a snide comment but Malfoy remained silent. 

As soon as Malfoy disappeared up the stairs Harry turned back to McGonagall. She was looking at him with a challenging look, as if daring him to keep arguing with her.

“Fine!” Harry flung the hand that wasn’t holding Pepper into the air in defeat and picked up his own trunk.

“Good, I will see you in class,” McGonagall nodded and swiftly walked out of the common room.

Harry looked towards the stairs and sighed. He just wanted one year at Hogwarts without any complications. He was too tired to be constantly fighting with Malfoy.

He lugged his trunk up the stairs and clumsily opened the door with his foot, apparently making too much noise if Malfoy’s annoyed look was anything to go by. He was standing by a big window, one that had a seat, the setting sun giving him a soft orange glow. He had already chosen the bed on the right and was currently putting his stuff away neatly. The room was a circular shape with a chunk cut out of it like a crescent moon, where the stairs cut into the room. They were in one of the turrets that stuck out from the tower. Two beds were placed on either side of the window, beside each of the beds was a desk and chair. It was nice.

He set his trunk down against the end of his bed before flopping down on the mattress. Instead of the usual Gryffindor red sheets, the ones on the bed were plain black. Pepper climbed up beside him, watching expectantly, Harry scratched her ear and she purred quietly.

He glanced over at Malfoy who was now stacking his books on his desk. He still hadn’t said a word. Something about him was off. Harry had noticed it at his trail as well. He seemed dejected, like he hadn’t smiled in months. Harry supposed be probably hadn’t. There wasn’t much to be happy about in the Malfoy household at the moment. It made Harry uneasy, he was used to Malfoy’s confidence and overall superior nature. The person standing on the other side of the room seemed like a different person all together.

—

“How’s it going with Malfoy? Have you tried to kill each other yet?” Ron asked, when Harry sat next to him at dinner. He had spent the rest of his afternoon unpacking and settling into his room.

He automatically looked over at the Slytherin table, his eyes finding blond hair almost immediately. Malfoy was sitting at the end of the table with Pansy and Blaise, staring at his plate with a bored expression on his face. There was a gap on the benches between the three and the rest of the Slytherins.

“No, he hasn’t said a word.”

“That’s weird,” Ron said, following Harry’s eyes and looking suspiciously over at Malfoy.

“I guess.”

“It’s not really,” Hermione interjected. “He’s not going to go picking a fight with Harry after everything that’s happened.”

“I don’t know Hermione, is Malfoy capable of being anything but terrible?” Ron asked sceptically. Harry thought that was a little harsh. “He didn’t seem to care before.”

“Don’t be stupid Ron, they’ll kick him out if he causes any trouble.”

“They will?” Harry hadn’t thought about that. Maybe if he wound him up enough, he could get Malfoy to hex him and he’d have the room to himself.

“Yeah. They’re probably keeping an eye on him, just in case.” Harry thought that was kind of unnecessary. Yes, Malfoy was a git but he wasn’t dangerous. That wasn’t what he was worried about. He wasn’t sure where they stood with each other anymore. Things were different now. They were no longer on opposite sides of a war and he liked to think he put an end to their rivalry when he defended Malfoy at his trial. But it wasn’t like they were friends; they couldn’t pretend they never hated each other. He would just have to avoid being alone with him as much as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at writing a Drarry fic so please let me know what you think! I have already written most of this story already and I just need to edit everything so I will hopefully be updating every week.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco was awoken from his sleep for the first time in his new room by a sliver of sunlight peeking through a gap in his bed curtains. He was surprised by the lack of nightmares that usually plagued his sleep. He’d expected them to get worse now that he was back at Hogwarts, that being there would bring back memories of the war. He even put up some silencing spells around his bed so his shouts couldn’t be heard. He didn’t want Potter hearing him. But they weren’t needed as his dreams were suspiciously pleasant. Blurry images of messy black hair and smudges of green faded from his memory as he woke up fully, until he couldn’t recall them at all.

He wouldn’t have chosen to come back to Hogwarts if it wasn’t for his fear of being unemployed. He could always live off his family’s money but that sounded mind-numbingly dull, sitting around the Manor all day with nothing to do. His mother had been telling him it was what was best for him ever since it was announced that students would be welcomed back at Hogwarts to complete their NEWTs. He had protested at first. Why should he go back to a place where everyone hated him? But in the end, he couldn’t deny she was right. It was going be difficult enough getting a job with his reputation, there was no point making things harder for himself by not finishing his education.

Pansy and Blaise were the only other Slytherins to have returned with him. Goyle was too stupid to complete his OWLs let alone his NEWTs, so he had opted for finding a job that involved physical work, Draco wasn’t sure whether he had succeeded. And honestly, he didn’t care.

He planned to lay low, keep out of trouble and get on with his work. If he was a perfect student they wouldn’t be able to find an excuse to expel him, which he knew they would at the first opportunity. He told himself he was probably being paranoid. Why would they have invited him back to Hogwarts if they weren’t willing to give him a chance? But it was hard not to think that way. People had been nothing but cold to him over the summer. He had been to Diagon Alley a few times to get things for school and for his mother. The way people had looked at him had made him want to disappear, to hide away from their glares. That was something he never thought he would hope for. He was an attention seeker, always had been. But now attention was the last thing he wanted. All he could think about when they looked at him like that was that the looks were justified.

Before he could spiral into a haze of depressive thoughts and do something stupid, like start crying, he got up. The curtains around Potter’s bed were open but he was still curled up under the covers, his cat sleeping on his pillow next to his head, both were snoring softly. Draco scowled at them.

It was 6 am and classes didn’t start till 9, but Draco was a morning person. If he could, he would sleep longer but ever since the 6th year, he had been too restless to sleep in. Being alone with his thoughts for too long always lead to thinking about what he had done, the mistakes he had made and the people he had hurt.

Potter looked peaceful when he was asleep. Awake, he was always so tense and fidgety. It was one of the most irritating things about him. And perhaps one of the most endearing. The line that usually creased between his eyebrows was non-existent and his untameable hair that had always driven Draco mad, was a soft mess over his forehead. Draco’s heart hurt just looking at him.

He had decided the universe must have a wicked sense of humour, putting him in a room with Harry bloody Potter of all people. He felt like he was being punished. Someone, somewhere was definitely laughing at him.

He told himself he would avoid talking to Potter as much as possible. That way, nothing he said could be taken the wrong way and get him thrown out. Potter tended to provoke a reaction out of him even when he wasn’t trying to.

Draco was almost certain McGonagall had put him with Potter so he could keep an eye on him. Or maybe she just thought he was less likely to mess with Potter, now that he was everyone’s Golden Boy, than the other eighth years. She would be right, if that was the reason. Draco wouldn’t dare touch a hair on Potter’s head. He didn’t even want to hurt him anymore. Maybe he never did. They sort of just decided to hate each other and that was how it was.

Draco’s feelings towards Potter were never that straightforward. Back in their first year, he had been so excited to meet him, this powerful wizard who had defeated the Dark Lord as a baby. Draco had thought he was amazing. He sometimes thought back to when he first met Potter in Madam Malkin's, when neither of them had known who the other was. They had been friendly. It was probably the only conversation they’d had where they hadn’t insulted each other. He sometimes wondered if Potter remembered too.

And then he had refused to shake his hand, and all his childish expectations were crushed. Granted, he had just made fun of Harry’s new friend, which was probably not the best way to go about getting on his good side. It’s not his fault his father had taught him to dislike the Weasley’s. He can’t say that Weasley had done anything to change his mind anyway. 

Neither had Potter apparently, Draco still thought he was amazing. Just like everyone else, maybe even more so. He was still brave, strong and good, everything Draco wanted to be but wasn’t. He wanted to hate him so badly, and for a long time, he’d convinced himself that he did. It took seeing Potter’s lifeless body in Hagrid’s arms to make him realise it wasn’t true.

Turning away from Potter before his woeful staring got creepy, he searched for something to do on his desk. There was nothing to do until class started in 3 hours and there was no way he could get back to sleep. Resigning himself to the boredom he would have to suffer for the next year, he decided to distract himself with a book. He walked over to the window seat between the two beds and lounged back against the cushions, absorbing himself in the book.

An hour later he saw something small and black jump from Potter’s bed and wander over to where he was sitting. He looked down and to find Potter’s cat staring up at him with wide eyes. It was a long-haired black cat with white socks and blue eyes. “What?” he asked it. The cat just blinked so Draco decided to ignore it, turning back to his book. It continued to stare at him but Draco determinedly didn’t react trying to re-find his place. 

It gave up waiting eventually and Draco thought the thing would finally leave him alone until it jumped up onto his lap, knocking his book out of his hands and onto the floor. He sighed in exasperation, trust Potter to have a cat that was just as irritating as him. He picked the book up again, glaring at the cat. It meowed defiantly and nuzzled its head into Draco’s palm. It was quite cute. And he had always liked cats. They were independent and only affectionate when they wanted to be, which was something Draco could relate to. So instead of shoving Potter’s cat back onto the floor, he let it curl up on his lap, patted its head with one hand and continued reading with the other.

Potter only started to stir another hour and a half later. He was relieved. He’d started to think he might have to wake him up himself. He had already missed breakfast, but Draco had decided that wasn’t important enough to disturb him. He placed the cat back onto the floor, who seemed to be offended that she was so abruptly awoken from her nap, then headed out the door to class.

—

Draco walked into the potion’s classroom five minutes early. He took a seat at the table right at the back, hoping no one would sit next to him. Pansy and Blaise would sit together, they had always been closer to each other than he was to them. Which was fine. He didn’t mind sitting alone. Students slowly started to fill up the seats around him as the start of class neared, thankfully none of them even looked in his direction. Except, of course, Pansy and Blaise who sent him apologetic looks as they took a seat at the table to his right.

Potter, Weasley and Granger pushed open the door at exactly 9 o’clock, the latter clearly frustrated with the other two’s lack of enthusiasm. They went straight to the only remaining table, the one in front of Draco, pulled out their chairs and sat down. He noted that Potter ended up sitting on the end of the table that was meant for two. He would get away with it of course, while Draco would probably lose 10 points for not having a partner.

Potter glanced around the room. When his eyes found Draco’s, he quickly looked away. That was to be expected, Draco told himself, he wasn’t surprised Potter wanted to pretend he didn’t exist. He would do the same. But that didn’t mean it didn’t make his heart sink just a little bit further.

Professor Slughorn started the lesson and told everyone what potion they would be making. The potion was meant to be made in pairs but he didn’t ask Potter to move, unsurprisingly. Draco was still sitting alone but Slughorn hadn’t even looked at him once, so he got on with collecting the ingredients and brewing the potion on his own.

While he worked, Draco could feel eyes on him but every time he looked up everyone was concentrating on their work. He shrugged it off as paranoia.

As usual Draco finished before everyone else, not even Granger was better than him at potions. Though whether that was because she had to supervise Potter and Weasley or because Draco was actually better, he wasn’t sure. 

Draco spent the rest of the lesson discreetly watching the trio of friends bickering over how best to make the potion, while pretending to be finishing up with his own. Slughorn had ignored his raised hand for about five minutes and in the end, Draco gave up trying to get his attention.

At one point Granger slapped Weasley’s hand away before he could put the wrong ingredient in their cauldron. Draco let out a silent laugh at that. He had always begrudgingly thought him and Granger would probably get on quite well, had he not been such an asshole. Of course, that would never have happened. She was a Muggle-born, and he had been taught his whole life that Muggle-born’s were bad, something to be despised. It took him longer than it should to realise how wrong that was. But he got there in the end.

He had been jealous of her and Weasley ever since they befriended Potter in first year. At one point he had hated her more than anyone else. In fourth year, when everyone thought her and Potter were together. Of course, it was stupid of him to believe any of those articles in The Profit. It was clear to anyone with eyes that Weasley was in love with Granger and that she felt the same, no matter how much she would have denied it. 

He hadn’t known at the time that he was jealous. It was only when looking back at his time at Hogwarts, that Draco realised he only resented Potter because he hadn’t wanted to be his friend. He’d never been good at handling not getting what he wanted. He blamed his parents for making him believe he should have whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it. For spoiling him. He blamed them for a lot of things.

Seeing Potter at the welcome feast with the newfound knowledge of his feelings and without a war or trial hanging over him, Draco wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before. His obsession with him was so obviously more than just hate. He craved his attention. He longed to be sitting on the other side of the Great Hall next to him. It made him feel pathetic.

He felt that same longing as he looked at him then. He was laughing at something Weasley had said, his smile lighting up his face and the room around him. With a lump in his throat, Draco turned back to his cauldron. The frown didn’t leave his face for the rest of the lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this chapter! The next ones will be more eventful I promise, these first two are just an introduction


	3. Chapter 3

Most of the time he wasn’t in classes, Harry was spending time with Hermione and Ron in the common room. They’d play wizard’s chess or Hermione would force them to do their homework or sometimes they’d just sit in silence, enjoying each other’s company. He liked spending time so much with his friends again, but more often than not he would find himself being either too restless to be sitting around so much or wanting to be alone.

Him and Malfoy had come to a silent agreement in the few weeks that they had been back at Hogwarts, that Malfoy would stay in their room and Harry would go elsewhere until curfew at 10pm. Ron and Hermione were getting on well with their roommates. Hermione was sharing a room with Hannah Abbot and Ron with Terry Boot. They had both been in Dumbledore’s Army so they were kind of friends already. Harry was jealous. He wanted a roommate he could talk to. Malfoy still hadn’t said a word to him, which Harry found infuriating. He’d rather get a rude response than nothing at all. He’d ask him simple questions like ‘Have you seen my charm’s textbook?’ and all he’d get in response was a shrug or a gesture towards the book where it would be hidden under a pile of clothes. He was certain this was Malfoy’s way of pissing him off without getting himself in trouble. He couldn’t exactly complain to McGonagall about how Malfoy wasn’t insulting him enough.

When sitting around became unbearable Harry started to wander around the castle or the grounds and go visit Hagrid. But the problem with that was, the other students wouldn’t leave him alone. Wherever he went people would come up to him and thank him or in some embarrassing cases, asking for an autograph. And if they weren’t coming up to him, they were staring at him, which he wasn’t sure he actually preferred. He just wanted some peace and quiet.

So, to avoid talking to people he waited till the halls weren’t too crowded, put on his invisibility cloak and snuck around till he found a quiet corner to hide in. Thankfully he still had the Marauders Map to help him find any secret passageways where he wouldn’t be disturbed.

It was while he was looking for one of these hiding spots that he ended up accidentally following Malfoy through the halls. At first, he had genuinely wanted to go the same way as Malfoy, but then curiosity got the best of him. He wanted to know where Malfoy went when he wasn’t hogging their room. At first he thought he was aimlessly walking the halls like him, but then he stopped at the doors of the library and went inside. Only then did Harry realise he was no where near where he wanted to be and had to walk back the way he came, glad no one could see him under his cloak.

It wasn't his destination that caught Harry's attention however, but the looks Malfoy was getting from other students. As he walked past, people would glare and mutter comments to their friends. Sometimes people would purposely bump into him, almost knocking him over. Harry was surprised by their clear dislike for Malfoy. Yes, he had been a Death Eater, but Harry thought it was obvious that he had hated Voldemort just as much as everyone else. The only reason he joined the Death Eaters in the first place was because he was scared, he had been miserable ever since Voldemort had given him the dark mark. Malfoy was an asshole sometimes but most of the time it was harmless. But maybe other people didn’t know Malfoy like he did. The thought was strange to Harry, did he really know Malfoy that well? Did Malfoy know him that well?

Harry knew he shouldn’t feel bad for him but he couldn’t help it. The way he kept his head down and his shoulders hunched was so un-Malfoy like that Harry hardly recognised him. The Malfoy he knew was so confident that no one dared make fun of him. The boy standing in front of him then was defeated and looked like he wanted nothing more than to disappear. He was even worse than he had been in 6th year.

Harry didn’t want to admit it but he was kind of missing the old Malfoy. And that’s why, after almost two weeks of silence from the Slytherin, Harry found himself looking for ways to provoke him. He discarded their previous arrangement and started sitting up in their dorm most evenings. He almost expected Malfoy to get up and leave as soon as he realised he was staying. Instead he just eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then continued to ignore him.

Harry had noticed that Malfoy was a bit of a clean freak, if the orderly way he had arranged his things was anything to go by. So he started leaving his side of the room messy and ‘accidentally’ crossing the line onto Malfoy’s side. He was sure this would at least get him a sneer but disappointingly for Harry, Malfoy would just give the mess a disapproving look and then tidy it away when he wasn’t there. He tired being a distracting as possible, tapping his fingers on a table or humming along to whatever song came into his head whenever Malfoy opened a book to study. This received no reaction at all besides a clenched jaw, which he could have imagined altogether. He even started letting Pepper climb onto his bed and curl up on top of the sheets, no doubt leaving black and white fur behind. But Malfoy didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed almost fond of the cat, stroking her head before gently shooing her off his bed.

He was starting to get frustrated with Malfoy’s seemingly unbothered attitude. There had to be something that would break the easy-going facade that he had decided to maintain. 

—

A month of this passed by the time Harry finally got Malfoy to speak to him. Though it was, perhaps unsurprisingly, not due to any of Harry’s provoking tactics.

It was Hogsmeade weekend and he had decided to start heading down to the entrance hall so he could meet Ron and Hermione and start walking into Hogsmeade. He assumed Malfoy had already left as he didn’t seen him when he woke up, early as always. He reached the bottom of the stairs before his friends so he lent against a wall while he waited. Excited voices echoed through the entrance hall as students rushed past him and through the doors to escape from the castle they had been stuck in for the last month. He understood their excitement, being in the castle for too long could be maddening sometimes. The hall started to clear and Harry wondered absently why Hermione and Ron were taking so long and rested his head back against the stone wall.

He was distracted from his thoughts when he heard voices from behind him. Turning his head in the direction of the noise, he found himself facing the hallway that lead to the library. He strained to hear what they were saying but the voices were hushed, probably not wanting to be overheard.

He had almost decided to ignore the them when the voices started to turn more aggressive followed by a thumping sound. He pushed away from the wall and made his way over to the hallway, careful to be quiet so he wouldn’t be noticed.

Once he was close enough, he peered around the corner and into the dimly lit hall to see two figures. One was pressing the other against the wall, an arm against his throat and another pointing a wand under his chin. Harry recognised the second figure straight away, his blond hair giving him away. He wasn’t sure who the other boy was, but he was wearing Hufflepuff robes and he looked no more than two years younger than Harry.

He wondered if maybe Malfoy had said something to cause this reaction. But he had been keeping to himself since the start of term, why would he start causing trouble now? Besides, Harry had seen the way the other students treated him, and that was with other people around. He wouldn’t be surprised if this boy had followed Malfoy until he was alone.

It was with that in mind, that Harry stepped out into the hallway. “Let him go,” he said, drawing the attention of both boys. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the Hufflepuff, who's eyes widened. He seemed surprised anyone would bother defending Malfoy.

“Why? He’s a death eater!” He could tell the boy was unsure, especially once he realised who he was talking to. Still, he didn’t move away. Malfoy was looking at him with a mixture of shock, confusion and annoyance. It was the most emotion he’d show lately and Harry felt weirdly triumphant at having caused it.

“Not anymore,” his voice was calm and confident but it felt like a feeble answer, he knew this boy wouldn't care how sorry Malfoy was now. No matter how much he regretted his actions, he still did them. But Harry knew a thing or two about regret and he wasn't going to let him hurt Malfoy. The boy continued to push him against the wall, glaring and almost choking him. Malfoy winced and Harry took another step closer.

“He doesn’t deserve to be here,” he argued weakly, an undertone of sadness beneath his anger. Harry wasn’t sure what exactly he meant by ‘here’ but he ignored him anyway.

“I said, let him go!” There was a warning in his voice that seemed to make the Hufflepuff reconsider his chances. It was two against one and Harry wasn't backing down.

He looked between Harry and Malfoy with until he took a stepped back in defeat. He clearly didn’t want to argue with Harry of all people about the redeemability of death eaters. He stormed off past Harry and towards the entrance hall. Malfoy had gasped in a breath as soon as he was released from the boys hold and was now raising a hand to his throat. Harry took a step forward to make sure he was alright but Malfoy recoiled and he stopped short. Malfoy avoided his eyes as he straitened his robes and started in the same direction as the Hufflepuff. He hadn’t exactly expected a thank you but a little gratitude would be nice. Just a nod of appreciation would be enough. 

“Malfoy wait!” He hurried to catch up so he could walk alongside him.

“Go away, Potter.” The words were meant to be harsh but the intended effect was ruined as his usual sneer was missing, almost making it sound like a plea rather than a demand. Harry tried to keep up with him but every time they fell into step, Malfoy sped up, keeping just ahead of him. Harry couldn't see his face but he could hear him sniffing and as he raised a hand to rub at his eyes, Harry realised with a sinking feeling that he was wiping away tears.

Harry started to panic, he’d never been very good with emotions. He considered letting Malfoy to get over it on his own, that was clearly what he wanted. But Harry couldn’t help but think of how lonely he must be at the moment. The few friends that he had never seemed to spend any time with him. Not many Slytherins had come back for eighth year, most of them too cowardly to be back at Hogwarts. Maybe Malfoy wasn’t as much of a coward as Harry thought. 

“Are you alright?” Harry asked as they began to made their way up the stairs, back towards the common room.

Malfoy stopped suddenly, spinning around to face Harry and bringing a hand up as if he was going to grab the front of his robes. Instead he let it hang in the air between them. “Just leave me alone.” His watery red rimmed eyes met Harry’s for a brief moment and his breath caught in his throat. He was startled by the intensity of his gaze, Harry could see all the raw emotion he had clearly been bottling up and trying so hard to keep concealed. And then Malfoy schooled his features until the only emotion left was anger. He turned away and continued his ascent up the stairs. Getting a rise out of Malfoy wasn’t as satisfying as he thought it would be. He just felt guilty.

Harry was about to follow him when he saw Hermione and Ron at the top of the stairs. They passed Malfoy on their way down and eyed him suspiciously as they passed, probably noticing how upset he was.

“What was that about?” Hermione asked when they reached him at the bottom.

“Was Malfoy bothering you?” Ron asked, looking ready to go after him and defend his friend. Harry appreciated it but shook his head.

“No. It was my fault. You ready to go?”

—

Draco got to the common room at the same time Pansy and Blaise were coming out of it. He rubbed furiously at his eyes, probably making the redness worse. It was bad enough that Potter had seen him so upset, he didn’t want his friends fussing over him.

“There you are! We are waiting for you,” Pansy said when she saw him. As he got closer, she frowned and asked, “Are you ok?”

He clenched his jaw but ignored her question. “Why were you waiting for me?” He was planning on sitting in the common room all day since no one would be around. 

Pansy still looked concerned but she let it go. She knew it wasn’t easy to get Draco to talk about his feelings. “Because we’re going to Hogsmeade,” she said, as if it was obvious, as if they had talked about going together. 

“I’m not going.”

“Why not?” She sounded disappointed and Draco felt slightly guilty. He didn’t mean to push his friends away but he felt so disconnected from them. He enjoyed their company but he preferred being alone. When he was with them, he would feel fine and then suddenly he would want nothing more than to be alone. But the most frustrating thing was that once he was alone he couldn’t help but feel lonely. It made no sense and it made him angry with himself.

“So you can sit in your room and feel sorry for yourself?” Blaise asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes.” There was no point in lying, they knew him too well.

“Well I won’t let you,” Pansy said defiantly. So far they had let him mope around and avoid them but apparently they’d had enough.

“I don’t care.” He didn’t want to give up so easily. He was stubborn, he couldn’t help it.

“Please,” Pansy said, pouting. She had clearly deciding that emotional manipulation was the best way to get Draco to agree with her. And it was working. “We never see you anymore.”

“Fine.” Maybe he wasn’t as stubborn as he thought.

\--

“Stop staring at Potter,” Pansy said in frustration. She had been talking at him and Blaise for the last hour, while they listened and drank their butterbeer. He had got distracted about ten minutes ago, when she had started talking about a girl from Durmstrang she had met during the summer. Usually Draco enjoyed talking to Pansy about girls but at that moment Potter and his friends had walked into the Hog’s Head. They’d pushed their way through the crowd and sat at a table with the other Gryffindors. Draco could see Potter through a gap in the crowd.

He was thinking about why Potter had defended him earlier. He hadn't meant to snap at him but he was confused and embarrassed that Potter had seen him being so vulnerable. He didn’t want his help. He was able to defend himself. Not that he had been trying to. He couldn't, it would only end in him getting the blamed for starting the fight in the first place. He hadn’t started it, of course. He had been walking back from the library, when he realised he was being followed. Before he could even register it properly, he had felt a hand on his shoulder that pulled him around to face an angry looking, brown haired Hufflepuff. He had almost laughed, Hufflepuffs weren’t very intimidating. But the look in the boys eyes was so hateful he kept his mouth shut.

Then he had started accusing him of things. Saying that it was his fault that his sister had died fighting Voldemort. He didn’t know who his sister was but he definitely knew he hadn’t killed her. He’d never killed anyone.

He had tried to let the boy rant at him until he felt satisfied enough to let Draco walk away but that only seemed to annoy him more. Then, when he had pushed him painfully against the stone wall, Potter had appeared around the corner as if he had some sort of sixth sense of when someone was in trouble.

He had been subtly looking over at him while also pretending to be invested in Pansy’s story but apparently, she had noticed.

“I’m not staring at him,” he mumbled, turning his attention away from Potter and back to Pansy.

“You were,” Blaise said. Draco glared at him.

“I was just looking in his general direction,” he said lamely.

“Well you seem to like looking in his ‘general direction’ a lot,” said Pansy. “You do it at dinner too. It’s embarrassing.”

“How is it embarrassing?”

“Because you get this pathetic look on your face that wants to be angry but is really just sad.” 

“I didn’t realise you were paying such close attention to me.”

“Oh please, Draco it’s so obvious. We’ve known about your crush on Potter for years.” Draco almost choked on his drink but played it off as if her words didn’t affect him. He gave her an offended look, as if he was repulsed by the idea.

He looked to Blaise, expecting him to side with him but he just shrugged. “We thought you knew that we knew.” 

“I do not have a crush on him.” He felt childish saying it, Pansy had a way of backing him into a corner and forcing him to tell her the truth. He knew he couldn’t convince them but he could try. He gestured to Potter, “I mean look at him, he’s so… fucking annoying.” It was the best he could come up with. He was ashamed of his lack of creative insult but his heart wasn’t in it. And Potter was annoying anyway. He was the bane of Draco’s existence, with his stupid concerned looks and pretty eyes. Fuck him.

“How are you coping with being stuck in a room together?” she asked, ignoring his denial. She had tried to ask him about this before but he had only given her half answers. “Has he decided you’re plotting to kill him yet?” she smirked and Blaise let out a laugh. It was something they and the other Slytherins always joked about, Potter constantly thinking Draco was up to something. Draco had found it funnier before Potter’s suspicions were justified.

“I don’t think so,” he said, appreciating the slight change in subject. “We don’t talk much. Or at all really.”

Potter had tried to start a conversation with him a couple times but Draco ignored him every time. He knew it was probably frustrating for him, but he didn’t care. Potter’s poor attempts at provoking him were amusing at most. It was boring sitting in the dorm on his own, though most of the time he had Pepper to keep him company, since she rarely left the room.

“That must be awkward.”

“It’s not actually.” At least Draco didn't find it awkward, he couldn't speak for Potter. But when he wasn’t trying to irritate him, Draco actually enjoyed having Potter hanging around.


	4. Chapter 4

The whole time Harry was at Hogsmeade he had been distractedly thinking about his short interaction with Malfoy. He knew the other students weren’t very friendly with him, he’d seen so much himself, but he didn’t think they would actually attack him. And he could tell it wasn’t the first time it had happened. He saw it in the resigned look in Malfoy’s eye and the way he didn’t even try to defend himself. He had just let the other boy push him around. Harry wasn’t sure what might have happened if he hadn’t been there and he didn’t want to find out. It wasn’t like Malfoy couldn’t defend himself either, he was a talented wizard. Though Harry would never let him know he thought so. He was already so full of himself. Or he used to be…

Harry walked into potions on Monday morning and saw Malfoy sitting in his usual place at the back of the classroom. As always he was sitting on his own, looking miserable. Harry had purposely come down earlier than usual so the room was only half full. He had told Hermione and Ron the night before that he wanted an early start so they didn’t need to wait for him. He wasn’t sure they actually believed him but they’d realise soon enough that he wasn’t in his room.

Since his attempts at annoying Malfoy until he talked to him were not working out how he had planned- and he honestly didn’t feel like it anymore- he decided to rethink. It wasn’t fun fighting with Malfoy now that he didn’t even react. He had thought about it while staring up at the canopy of his bed and had decided the only option he had left was to just be nice to him. At least that way he would have the satisfaction of confusing the hell out of him.

It shouldn’t be too difficult. He could be nice to Malfoy, as long as he wasn’t being a dick back. And even that he could deal with, Ron could be an ass sometimes and that was one of the things he liked about him. Maybe he liked a bit of conflict. Did that make him weird? Probably. But he didn’t give a shit. He was determined to make Malfoy smile at least once this year. He was sick of looking at his moody face.

He pulled out the stall next to Malfoy and sat down. He could feel Malfoy’s eyes on him as he took out his books and placed them on the desk. As he expected, when he looked up, Malfoy was staring at him as if he had gone mad. 

“Hi.” He smiled, pretending nothing was out of the ordinary. 

“What are you doing?” Malfoy was looking at the other students as if checking that they weren’t watching and Harry was pulling some kind of prank. Realising that they were all absorbed in their own conversations and paying no attention to them he looked back at Harry and frowned.

“We both need a partner,” he said, as if it was obvious. 

Malfoy gave him a bewildered look. For a moment he looked like he was going to argue, his lips parted, but no words escaped. He abruptly shut his mouth, his features that were previously set in an expression of confusion, now in one of annoyance. He pointedly ignored Harry and looked back to the book he had been reading. A few strands of his blonde hair fell loose with the movement from where they had been neatly pushed back. Harry had the sudden urge to brush them back into place. He noted that he no longer slicked it back but rather let it fall in natural waves over his forehead, which he brushed back with his fingers to keep out of his eyes. It made him look less severe and more soft. Harry preferred it that way.

Malfoy was still frowning but he seemed to have decided pretending Harry wasn’t there was the best way to deal with him. Harry searched for something to say, he would get Malfoy to talk to him, whether he liked it or not.

“What are you reading?” he asked. 

Malfoy sighed, giving him an irritated but still slightly confused look. “Why?”

“Just curious.” He shrugged.

“It’s none of your business,” he mumbled. Harry might have assumed he was angry at his nosiness but something about the way his eyes sifted away from him told him he was more embarrassed. Actually curious now, Harry subtly craned his neck to read the words at the top of the books pages. It was a muggle book.

“I didn’t know wizards read muggle books,” he said offhandedly. He thought this was an acceptable way to start a conversation with Malfoy. He was always reading, Harry thought maybe he’d appreciate being asked about his books. Apparently not.

Malfoy glared at him. “What does it matter what I read?”

Harry held his hands up as if in surrender. “It doesn’t. I was just asking.”

“Well don’t.”

“Ok,” he sighed. That hadn’t gone to plan. He was supposed to be being nice to Malfoy, not pissing him off. 

He rested his elbows on the desk and fiddled with his quill until the start of class, glancing over at Malfoy a few times only to see that he was again fully focused on his book. As Hermione and Ron walked into the classroom, they gave him matching odd looks when they saw where he was sitting. He shrugged at them innocently and before they could question him Slughorn cleared his throat to get the attention of his students, indicating the start of the lesson. They let it go, taking their seats and facing the front, but he was sure they would be bringing it up later.

The lesson started and Slughorn explained what potion they would be learning. Harry flicked through his potions book to find the instructions and read through, it sounded simple enough. Silently, he got up to get the ingredients while Malfoy set up the cauldron. He returned with his arms full of jars and struggled to put them down without dropping them. Malfoy tried to ignore him until Harry almost dropped one on the floor and then he begrudgingly helped him place them on their desk.

“Ok, how about I chop everything up and you put them in and stir?” He could tell that Malfoy wanted to argue for the sake of it.

“Alright,” Malfoy agreed, his refusal to speak to Harry apparently winning against his want to disagree with him on principle.

Harry picked up a knife and started cutting up the ingredients, following the instructions as best he could. They worked in silence together as he handed things to Malfoy and he expertly mixed them together. He seemed to know what he was doing without even looking at his book. Harry wasn’t surprised, Malfoy had always been better than everyone else at potions, except maybe Hermione. He used to think he did so well because Snape was the teacher, but watching him work with such precious and certainty, he could tell it came naturally to him.

Harry was in the middle of slicing open some fluxweed when Malfoy glanced over at his chopping board. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“How? The instructions say to slice the fluxweed down the centre,” he said defensively, pointing the tip of the knife at where words were printed in his book.

“Yeah, long ways not horizontally,” he said it like Harry was an idiot for not knowing. He looked down at the chopping board. Now he thought about it, it did make more sense to do it Malfoy’s way. He suddenly knew how Hermione had felt in 6th year when he had smugly corrected her. Malfoy had been watching him as he frowned down at the desk before he frustratedly tried to take the knife from Harry’s hand. “Just let me do it.”

“No. Sod off I’ll start again,” he pushed Malfoy’s hands away before he could get hold of the knife and put more fluxweed onto the chopping board. Surprisingly, Malfoy gave in straight away, going back to stirring the cauldron.

The rest of the lesson went by uneventfully and soon enough they had a vial full of glittery dark purple liquid. Harry was proud of how perfect it was. Except with the help of Snape’s potions book, he had never been able to complete a potion as accurately as this one. Perhaps being Malfoy’s partner had more benefits that he initially thought. They made a good team. When Slughorn reached their table, last since it was the furthest from his desk, he praised the potion and exclaimed that it was the best one he had seen so far. Harry grinned at Malfoy and received a scowl in response.

He was packing away his things when Hermione and Ron appearing in front of his desk. Malfoy got up and left without looking back at him. Harry’s followed him until he disappeared through the door, oblivious to the presence his friends. Malfoy had always been unnecessarily angry with everyone, especially with him, so he hadn’t expected much. In fact, it had gone better than he thought it would. Still, he was going to have to try harder to be nice next lesson. It was hard to break the habit.

Hermione clicked her fingers in front of his face, drawing his attention away from the now empty doorway. “Harry! Did you hear what I just said.”

“Yes.”

“What did I say then?” she asked, folding her arms.

“Uh…” She rolled her eyes at him and shared an exasperated look with Ron.

“Why were you sitting with Malfoy?” Ron asked, making it sound like he was worried for Harry’s mental health.

“I needed a partner.” 

“We’re your partners,” he argued sounding slightly offended.

“We’re only supposed to have one partner,” he pointed out. “What do we have next? Charms? Did we have homework?” he then added quickly, so she couldn’t interrupt. The best way to distract Hermione was with school work.

“Wha- yes we have homework! I thought you finished it yesterday when I told you to do it!”

—

Harry didn’t give up easily, and he didn’t think the lesson had gone that badly. Him and Malfoy hadn’t even really argued, like he had expected, and even when they had it was almost pleasant compared to their usual interactions. So, rather than being put off by Malfoy’s unwillingness to be friendly, he decided to persist.

They didn’t have potions the next day but when he walked into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, the desks were pushed against the walls to clear a space in the centre of the room. Everyone gathered in the space and waited for the new professor to give them instructions. She explained that they would be practicing in pairs, which was convenient for Harry. He scanned the class and found Malfoy, Parkinson and Zabini standing at the back. He subtly edged closer to them, only half listening to the professor, until he was standing right next to them. He vaguely registered that they would be practicing casting non-verbal spells.

. “…this is an especially useful skill in battle. Today, however, we will not be using any dangerous spells as we do not want any of you paying a visit to Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing,” she said with a friendly smile. Despite her strictness, Harry liked her, she was like a younger version of McGonagall. “Now, partner up and start practicing.” The room was filled with noise as everyone started talking and moved to be close to their friends. 

“Need a partner?” he asked Malfoy, making him jump. He had to suppress a laugh as Malfoy turned to glare at him.

“No, I don’t.”

Harry faltered for a second, thinking maybe he was going to be partnering with Pansy or Blaise. That would leave him stuck with the other as he’d abandoned his own friends. In their first practical lesson with her, him, Hermione and Ron had tried to work as a three, but she had told them she wouldn’t allow any special treatment and that he would have to find a partner like the rest of the class. He would usually pair up with Neville, he felt kind of guilty about leaving him on his own now. He could see him looking around for him, wondering why he wasn’t there.

Malfoy’s friends smirked at him, having overheard Harry’s question. 

“Yes, he does. Thanks Harry, saves one of us from having to put up with him,” she said with a wry smile, giving Malfoy a pat hard on the arm. He gave her a flat look. Harry was confused at the interaction and surprised at how friendly she was being. Though he guessed it was probably more for Malfoy’s benefit than his. 

“Ok…” he said anyway as they moved to stand across from each other. He did the same, standing a few feet in front of Malfoy, facing him. “You try first.”

Malfoy gave one last glare towards his friends before facing Harry properly and raising his wand. It was odd standing in front of Malfoy while he pointed a wand at him and not feeling at all threatened. He supposed he should feel at least a little wary but he found that for some reason he trusted Malfoy not to hurt him.

With the ease of someone with casts wordless spells all the time, Malfoy flicked his wand in a small and precise movement. Harry waited for the spell to hit him, bracing for some kind of pain or discomfort but he felt nothing. He looked down at himself in confusion. “Did it work?”

He tried to take a step forward but found he couldn’t move his legs. He made a sound of surprise and wobbled forward for a second before regaining his balance, holding his arms out in front of himself. He looked up at Malfoy and found the Slytherin looking at him with an amused glint in his eyes and a small proud smile on his face. Harry felt an inexplicable warmth spread through him at the sight. He couldn’t help but grin back.

“Wow, you’re good at this,” Harry said as he struggled to unstick his feet from the ground. Most spells like this one wore off pretty quickly, even when they were cast verbally. Malfoy must have practiced non-verbal spells before. He was so focused on pealing the sole of his shoe from the floorboards that he missed the faint blush that rose to Draco’s cheeks at the compliment.

—

“So are you going to tell us why you’ve suddenly decided to ditch us for Malfoy in all our classes?” Hermione asked later that day in the common room. She was sitting with her back against a sofa that Ron was spread out over. Pepper was curled up in her lap while Ron played with her hair, attempting, and failing, to plait it. Harry was sitting in a worn puffy armchair across from them, trying to ignore the small pang of jealousy he felt at their closeness. 

He missed having a girlfriend. Missed having someone to hold and kiss and talk to. He had liked being with Ginny. But it turned out he hadn’t really love Ginny like he thought he had. Their break up was mutual, both agreed it wasn’t really working out. But he still missed the closeness of being in a relationship. He loved his friends but sometimes their love for each other just made him feel sorry for himself. He wanted someone to play with his hair, to hold his hand and kiss him softly.

“Let me guess, you think he’s ‘up to something again’” Ron said in a poor imitation of Harry’s voice. “You’re not going to start following him everywhere again are you?”

Harry wanted to tell Ron to lower his voice since Malfoy might overhear them and that would be embarrassing but then he remembered that he’d never actually seen Malfoy spending time in the common room. Had he always been this much of a recluse?

“That was completely justified! He was actually up to something that year.”

“What about all the other years? Was that just for fun?” Ron was joking but Harry felt like he was accusing him of something.

“Whatever.” He didn’t want to tell them he was trying to make friends with Malfoy. They wouldn’t understand. “It’s none of your business.”

“Fine then. Keep your secrets.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I still don’t get it,” Ron said, his voice muffled by his hands that were currently covering his face. It was the eighth years free period and they were supposed to be using the time to study, and for once, they were doing as they were told. Harry, Ron and Hermione had spread their books and pieces of parchment over one of the tables in the library, so no one would sit with them. Pepper had wanted to come with Harry when he went up to his room to fetch his things, so he had brought her along too. She spent most of her time in his room while Harry was in classes so he would feet bad leaving her behind.

“I’ve explained it to you four times now,” Hermione said quietly. Harry thought it seemed more like ten. She was trying to be patient with him but there was underlying frustration in her tone. Their study session had been going fine, Harry had written almost half of his essay when Ron first asked for Hermione’s help. Now, after hearing her repeat the same thing with increasing annoyance, and volume-she had been asked to lower her voice more than once-he had made no progress and was starting to get a headache.

“Can’t you just do it for me?” Ron suggested, giving her a hopeful look through a gap in his fingers.

“No!” Hermione always got angry when they suggested she should do their work for them.

“Can you two please shut up,” Harry snapped. He loved his friends. And he was happy that they loved each other, but he couldn’t stand it when they argued. It wasn’t that they didn’t get on. They were still sickeningly in love and spent most of their time blushing and flirting with each other, but the rest of the time they were bickering over something pointless. They also had a tendency to forget he was there, especially when they were wrapped up in each other. When they were arguing, they would forget his presence to a point until one of them demand he side with them. It was maddening.

Hermione shot him a guilty look and apologised while Ron just grumbled into his hands. She rolled her eyes at him but gave in and pushed her own answers towards him. “Only to help you, don’t you dare copy.”

This seemed to be a satisfactory middle ground and they were all able to focus back on their work. The silence lasted a few minutes until Ron once again said something that Hermione took offence to. Then they started arguing again in hushed voices. Harry wasn’t sure what it was about, he was hardly paying attention. He had been distracted just a few seconds before when Malfoy had walked through the door.

As always, he was on his own. Though Harry had noticed that recently he was spending more time with Pansy and Blaise again. He felt an unexpected sense of relief to know that he wasn’t alone all the time. Harry had found himself worrying about Malfoy’s wellbeing a concerning amount over the last few weeks. Harry knew that really, Malfoy making up with his friends meant that he was no longer in need of another one. But all that did was leave Harry with the realisation that that he actually did genuinely want to be Malfoy’s friend. Plus, he still didn’t like how quiet it was in their room and he wanted to be able to talk to him.

Harry had come to this conclusion the night before, when his mind refused to stop reeling with thoughts and let him sleep. Through lack of better things to do he had got out of bed, slung on his invisibility cloak and, as quietly as possible to avoid waking Malfoy, walked out the door of their room. He ended up wandering aimlessly through the halls until he found himself on his way to the quidditch pitch. He considered getting his broom from the shed and flying around for a bit, maybe chase his snitch around a few times, but it was less fun when he didn’t have anyone to compete against. Instead he just sat in the middle of the grass, feeling pitifully lonely.

Being alone with his thoughts was never a good idea for Harry. It led to him overthinking or coming up with terrible plans that he would regret later. Which was exactly what he did. As he sat in the damp grass staring up at the stars, his thoughts drifted, as was a common occurrence these days, to Malfoy. (If he told Ron about how much time he spent thinking about Malfoy, he would probably take him to St Mungo’s, and tell them he was worried about Harry’s sanity.) He thought about the suspicious glances he gave Harry every time he tried to talk to him. It was obvious he didn’t trust him, and if Harry was going to be his friend, he needed his trust.

So, he came up with a plan. First, he needed Malfoy to get used to him being around without thinking it was weird. He had already permanently moved to the seat besides Malfoy in potions. The first and second time he had done this, Malfoy had regarded him with confusion and surprise, now he would just sigh as if it was what he expected. They’d work together in silence, Harry occasionally attempted to start a conversation, which Malfoy responded to with short answers and refusal to hold the conversation.

Despite this being frustrating, Harry found that he didn’t mind the silence too much. It was nice to sit with someone who expected nothing form you. Just like he didn’t mind sitting with Malfoy in their room, quietly studying or reading, or in Harry’s case, pretending to do those things then getting distracted five minutes in. That didn’t mean he would give up. Of course, he would prefer it if Malfoy joined in with his attempts at conversations, but he was working towards that. Which led to the second part of his plan. He needed to get Malfoy to talk to him. For now, he was focusing on gaining Malfoy’s trust.

Harry was absently aware that this was becoming a bit of an obsession. Making a mental step by step guide to befriending your once ‘worst enemy’-which, now Harry thought about it, was a strange way for a boy who had enemies such as Voldemort, to refer to someone who tried to knock him off his broom every now and then-wasn’t exactly normal behaviour. But when has Harry’s life ever been normal?  
He told himself that he was doing this so he could have a roommate who didn’t hate him and firmly ignored any thoughts that there might be more to it.

With his thoughts drowning out the noise of his friends, he watched as Malfoy disappeared behind the first set of bookshelves without looking up from the ground to check for free tables. At the front of the library there was a cluster of tables and chairs for students to study but there were also places to sit in between each aisle of shelves, so Harry assumed that was where he was going.

“Harry agrees with me! Don’t you Harry?” At the sound of Ron saying his name, Harry whipped his head around from where he had been stating at the bookshelf Malfoy had just disappeared behind.

“What?”

Ron groaned at Harry’s unhelpfulness. “As my best mate, you’re supposed to support my arguments.”

“Hermione’s my best friend too,” Harry objected distractedly. “I’m going to find a book.”

They were too distracted with glaring at each other to notice that when Harry collected up his pile of things and he stood up, he walked not towards the door but towards the rows of bookshelves. Pepper followed as he walked up and down each aisle discretely taking in the faces of each student he passed. There were less people in this part of the library. The huge room was used more as a study area than a place to get books. Hermione was one of the rare students to have read any of the books that lined the dusty shelves. Still, there were a few students, mostly Ravenclaws, scanning the rows of the worn old books.

Harry pretended to search for something specific, but it wasn’t a book he was looking for. He had almost given up, thinking Malfoy had slipped out again without him noticing, when he reached the very last aisle, one people rarely went down and spotted a slender figure in Slytherin green robes. He was facing away from Harry, sitting at a desk in a hidden shadowy corner at the other end of the row of shelves, lit by a single lantern. Harry knew it was Malfoy, no one else had hair that blonde.

Harry continued to walk down the empty aisle, Pepper following, and stopped just short of the wooden table where Malfoy sat. His head was bent over the desk, where he was scrawling on a piece of parchment in small neat handwriting. He must have heard his footsteps as him approached but he didn’t look up. “Want some company?” Harry asked.

—

“Not really,” Draco replied flatly. He refused to look up but he knew exactly who was standing to his right. If he hadn’t recognised him from his voice alone, he would have guessed from the battered muggle running shoes- trainers?- that peaked out from the bottom of his black trousers that were slightly to long. It was as if he was unable to dress himself. Draco wanted to rip up his terrible choice of clothes and buy him something that didn’t look like it was either fifty years old or made for someone twice his size.

Potter was once again, inexplicably, talking to him willingly. He had been doing this all week. Every potions lesson he would come and sit in the seat besides Draco as if it were the most normal thing in the world, which it was anything but. He may have believed Potter’s flimsy excuse of needing a partner, after all it did make sense for him to sit next to Draco rather than on the end of Granger and Weasley’s desk, had he not then done the same thing the next day in defence against the dark arts.

If he was honest with himself, and he rarely was, he quite enjoyed the lessons. They worked well together, with Potter’s practicality and Draco’s intellect, they complimented each other. It was almost as if they really were friends. He gave his obligatory protest to keep up his facade the first time, but could only bring himself to glare when Potter kept coming back. He suspected he would do the same in every lesson if there weren’t a set seating plan in all their other classes.

By now, he had come to expect Potter’s presents in potions and had long since grown used to the sound of his breathing in the bed next to his. But he did not expect him to follow him to the one place he got to be alone. He was both annoyed at the intrusion and pleased that Potter would bother coming to find him. He fought the feeling down and plastered his usual frown on his face.

For once Draco was being honest, he really didn’t want any company. He may secretly- or not so secretly if Pansy had anything to say about it- enjoy Potter’s company but he needed to write his essay. And Potter had a habit of fiddling with the first thing he could get his hands on. Besides, Draco was still suspicious of Potter’s intentions and he wasn’t interested in playing any games.

“Great.” Potter said and sat down. He placed his books on the table and started getting out his quill and parchment. Draco finally looked up from his own sheet of parchment and gave him a hard look, which Potter ignored. He wasn’t wearing his robes like he was supposed to. He was wearing his uniform trousers but with one of those muggle jumpers with a hood. It was dark blue, and paired with his messy black hair, made him look particularly huggable. Despite his energetic demeanour and the bright smile on his lips, there were dark circles under his eyes and a slight droop to his eyelids.

Draco had heard him get up the night before and leave their room. He wondered where he was going. It was oddly nice to know he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep, which he knew was a selfish way to think. Despite him having less nightmares now he was back at Hogwarts, he still had them occasionally. He had woken up shouting out and clutching his pillow in such a tight fist he was worried he had torn the material. Luckily he knew he was prone to waking up like this and would routinely cast silencing charms around his bed every night. He had started doing it when, while still at the manor, he had woken his mother and frightened her half to death with his screams.

He couldn’t seem to rid his dreams of the image of Voldemort torturing people or of him torturing Draco. Those were the worst dreams. He would wake up covered in sweat and shaking, unable to get back to sleep. It was while he laid awake after these nightmares that he would listen for the sound of Potter’s rhythmic breathing, he found it comforting. At least, he did when Potter wasn’t tossing and turning all night, panting and mumbling incoherently. Draco wasn’t surprised he also had nightmares. But he hated the listening to it, unable to do anything to help. What was he supposed to do? Wake him up? Potter would probably punch him as soon as he opened his eyes and saw Draco standing over him.

“What are-” Potter started, probably about to ask him what he’s doing as if it isn’t obvious.

“What do you want?” Draco interrupted, slightly annoyed at the other boy’s inability to take a hint.

“Nothing,” he said innocently.

“Then why do you keep bothering me?” There was an underlying tone of desperation to his voice that Draco tried to cover up with another glare. Still, Harry paused, looking slightly guilty. If he was going to force his presents on Draco, he would at least get an explanation on his strange behaviour.

“There’s nowhere else to sit...” It was probably true. Draco chose to sit on his own to get away from everyone else, but today he didn’t have a choice anyway, there were very few places to sit in the library and every one of them was currently occupied. But that was just a convenience.

“Not just right now, you’ve been doing this all week.”

“Doing what?” he tried, playing dumb. Draco rolled his eyes.

“You know what.”

“I-” Pepper, apparently unhappy with the lack of attention she was getting, jumped up onto the table. Draco jumped, he hadn’t seen the cat approach behind Potter. Subconsciously, he lifted a hand to pet her, then remembered that Potter was watching him and retracted it. He balled his hand into a fist and lowered in onto the table. Potter slid Draco’s ink pot away from Pepper’s swaying tail and said, “sorry, she sort of just does what she wants...”

Pepper meowed and pawed at Draco’s fist. He gave in, running a hand over her black fur.

“Traitor,” Potter said, frowning. “Why did you go to him?”

“Because she likes me better,” he said smugly. As if to agree, Pepper started purring. Draco almost laughed when he looked up at Potter’s face, he looked betrayed.

“I promise I’ll be quiet,” Potter said, after a pause.

Draco said nothing for a moment, just continued to stroke Pepper.

“Fine, if you’re so hell bent on spending time with me…” he said, looking away from Pepper and at the Gryffindor. “But only so Pepper can stay.”

—

“So Draco,” Pansy said as she sat down next to him at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, he knew from her tone that she knew something and was going to tease him about it. She paused dramatically as she started pilling food onto her plate. “When did you and Potter become the best of friends? Is there something you want to tell us?”

She turned to look at him, her perfectly shaped eyebrows raised and a knowing smirk on her face. Pansy lived to tease Draco. She hadn’t had the chance to these last few months, both out of pity and lack of things to tease him about.

“No. We’re not even friends.”

“Really?” Her smile widened and her eyes danced with mirth. “Because I’m pretty sure I just saw the two of you walk out of the library together. Potter looked very pleased with himself.”

After spending the last half hour of their free period studying together, Potter keeping his promise of being quiet, they had walked back to their dorm room. Draco had no reason to argue when Potter had stood up after him and followed him out the door of the library. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t exactly tell Potter to go away when they were both going to same way. They hadn’t said much but Draco had allowed a little conversation, and it was nice. It was true, Draco didn’t understand why, but Potter seemed extremely happy to be talking to him. It was most unsettling.

“So? Doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

Even if for a few moments it had felt like they were almost friends, even if Draco still didn’t believe Potter was being genuine in his advances of friendship.

“Well it certainly doesn’t mean you can’t stand each other like you both like to pretend.”

He sighed. Perhaps she had a point. Pansy was an excellent judge of character. “Whatever.”

She smirked, his lack of comeback meaning she had won. Her eyes flicked from him to across the hall to the Gryffindor table. “He’s looking over here.”

Before he could stop himself, Draco looked up and green met blue as he caught Potter’s gaze. He was still wearing the same hoodie as earlier and Draco was staring to wish he would never wear it again, if only so he didn’t have to see him looking so soft. Potter looked away, embarrassed to be caught staring. Then, as if by reflex, looked back and when he realised Draco was still doing the same, he gave him a small smile.

Draco’s lips tightened into a straight line and he forced himself to look away. Pansy laughed at him.

“Shut up,” he snapped.


	6. Chapter 6

"Are you awake?"

It was 1 am and Draco was, in fact, awake. But still, he paused. The sound of Potter's voice, breaking the deathly silence of their room, had startled him. He had heard him shuffling around but Potter was always fidgeting and Draco had thought he was alone in his inability to asleep. He should ignore him. Pretend to be sleeping and not to have heard him speak.

Instead, he grabbed his wand from under his pillow and removed the silencing charm that surrounded his bed. "No."

Potter scoffed but Draco sensed amusement hidden underneath and couldn't help the small smile that made its way onto his face. It's not like Potter could see him anyway.

Potter had been consistently bothering him for a few weeks now. Draco was still stubbornly trying to refuse to engage in the conversations but sometimes he couldn't help himself. It was frustrating how persistent he was being. But he couldn't get rid of him. No amount of eye rolling or scowls could get him to leave Draco alone, and he was left with no choice but to accept Potter's weird behaviour. He hadn't yet told him to stop, but that was irrelevant.

Draco heard him push his covers back and get out of bed. "Get up."

Frowning, Draco leaned over and opened his curtain to look at him. He was facing away from him, wearing red checked pyjama bottoms. Without a top. Draco swallowed as Potter stretched for a moment before bending down to retrieve a discarded jumper that was lying on the floor. His muscles shifted under his skin and Draco suddenly very aware that he had never seen Potter shirtless before. What a pity. He had been missing out. He then turned around with his arms half in the sleeves of his jumper giving Draco a fantastic view of his chest. He was toned but not too much, just the right amount in Draco's opinion. He itched to cross the small space between them and run his hands down his smooth brown skin. Draco's thoughts were interrupted when Potter pulled the hem of his jumper down over his chest. His golden brown skin was now obscured by a big blue H stitched on the front of a scratchy looking jumper that was slightly too big.

Potter looked at him expectantly and Draco realised he hadn't said anything, too distracted by the way Potter had balled the cuffs of his sleeves in his hands and his tousled black hair that was even messier than usual.

"Why?"

"We're going for a walk."

"No, we aren't, I'm trying to sleep."

"Yes we are. Come on, get up."

Draco would have tried harder to refuse, but the problem was, he kind of wanted to go for a walk. He didn't want to spend another minuet in this stuffy room, staring into darkness, unable to get the images of his nightmare out of his head.

After a moment he gave in, making sure to grumble and sigh just the right amount so Potter knew just how much he didn't want to be spending time with him. Potter just grinned. He unhooked his Slytherin jumper from his wardrobe-he took pride in his appearance, unlike Potter who walked around unashamedly in permanently wrinkled clothes-and pulled it on over his silk pyjamas. There was no point in getting dressed, there wouldn't be anyone walking around at this hour.

"What if we get caught?" he asked as he slipped his shoes on. He knew that if he was with Potter he would probably get away with it, but he didn't want to risk it. No doubt Potter was allowed to break curfew whenever he wanted, being the saviour of the wizarding world and all, but Draco was still being watched for bad behaviour.

"We won't." His certainty both reassured Draco and pissed him off.

"What are they for?" he asked as Potter dug through his trunk until he pulled out a bundle of silky material and a worn piece of parchment. Instead of answering he unfolded the bundle so Draco could see it was a cloak, then he wrapped it around his shoulders, his body seemingly vanishing. "Ah, of course you have an invisibility cloak. What about that ancient piece of parchment?"

"It's a map."

"Merlin, do you really not know your way around the castle by now? It's a wonder how you have lived this long." Potter glared at him as he got up from the bed and plucked the parchment from his hands, examining it with amusement. "You do realise this is blank?"

"That's not what it's for," Potter said defensively, snatching it back.

"What else could you possibly need a map for?"

Potter ignored him, pointing his wand at the parchment and muttered something Draco couldn't hear. Coppery ink spread out over the parchment, forming a map of Hogwarts. Draco subconsciously moved forward to get a better look, peering over Potter's shoulder. "It lets you see where everyone in the castle is. See, there's us."

Potter pointed at the miniature eighth year dorm rooms where he could see each of his classmates labelled and sleeping in their beds. Just under Potter's finger were two footprints, one standing just behind the other, labelled 'Harry Potter' and 'Draco Malfoy'. Draco said nothing for a second. It was an extremely impressive piece of magic, but he didn't want to admit that to Potter. Instead, he did what he always did, tried to irritate Potter as much as possible. "Is this what you used to stalk me in 6th year?"

"I did not stalk you!"

Draco gave him a look that said 'if you say so'.

"Just get under the cloak," he insisted as he lifted one side of the cloak, gesturing for Draco to stand next to him.

"No!" There is no why he was getting under that thing and being so close to him.

"Do you want to get caught out after curfew?"

"This was your idea," Draco said defiantly.

"Whatever, are we going or not?"

"Fine! But if I get expelled for being out after curfew, I will murder you," he muttered, as he stepped under the cloak and Potter's arm. He pushed his arm away in annoyance, making the other boy snicker. He grabbed the cloak and tugged it further around himself. "I don't know why we're even doing this."

—

"Where are we going?" Draco asked once got to the entrance hall and Harry steered them towards the courtyard. The stone hallways were cold and Draco was already regretting his decision. Now Potter was leading them outside and Draco was considering turning back.

"You'll see," he said evasively. It was almost as if he knew Draco was curious where he went on his midnight walks and was using it against him.

They made their way through the courtyard and out onto the grounds. They were headed towards the quidditch pitch. Draco should probably mention that he didn't have any of his quidditch stuff with him. But, despite the cold, he was enjoying walking with Potter more than he was willing to admit. So he kept his mouth shut and followed Potter until they reached the pitch.

"I didn't bring my quidditch robes," he said when Potter shrugged off the cloak and opened the door to the broom shed and changing rooms. "Or broom."

"Really? Aren't you playing this year?" he asked, confused. Quidditch practice had already started but of course he shouldn't expect Potter to notice if he was attending practices or not. He had started getting up even earlier than Draco to practice with the Gryffindor team, he would come back muddy and smelling of sweat but with a beaming smile on his face. Sometimes he'd tell Draco about the stupid things his teammates had done-usually Ron-which Draco would listen to with a fake bored expression. "Come on, that's funny" Harry had said once, when Draco hadn't laughed at his enthusiastic retelling of how Ron had face-planted while trying to catch a quaffle. "Gryffindor's are all morons" Draco had replied.

"I didn't think they'd let me... and even if I was allowed, I wouldn't feel welcome on the team." The younger Slytherins were distancing themselves as much as possible from the elder students, as if to prove that they hated them just as much as the other houses. A moment of slightly awkward silence followed where Potter searched for the right thing to say. Draco didn't want his pity; he knew he deserved everything he was getting.

"Well, there's plenty of brooms in here and I have a spare set of robes... if you want to use them," he reached into his locker and pulled out a bundle of red and gold and held it out to him. "Or you could play in those fancy pyjamas you're wearing, but they don't look very wind proof."

Draco gave him a withering look and Potter raised a challenging eyebrow in return. And Draco had never been one to back down from a challenge.

He snatched the bundle of robes from Potter and despaired at the wrinkled material. He could see Potter grinning at him from the corner of his eye, which he chose to ignore for the sake of his own sanity. He walked over to one of the nearby benches and started to change.

\--

Draco groaned when they walked out onto the pitch, realising they still couldn't play. "We need a snitch."

"I have a one." Potter pulled out a snitch from his pocket and held it out between his fingers.

"Why do you have a snitch?"

"Long story. It doesn't matter." He opened out his palm, allowing the snitch to spread its wings and fly up into the sky.

"First to catch it wins?" Potter asked.

"Yes Potter, that is how you play quidditch," he deadpanned. Before Potter could reply, he climbed onto his broom and took off after the snitch.

He couldn't see if Potter had followed but he'd always had good reflexes so he was sure he had. Draco hadn't been on a broom in so long, it was refreshing to feel the wind whip around his body and through his hair. He couldn't stop the grin from spreading over his face if he tried.

He circled the pitch and within minutes he spotted a flash of gold as the moonlight reflected off the snitch. He changed direction, almost colliding with Potter who was right behind him.

Potter's robes were slightly too small for him and he could feel them stretching as the leaned as far forward as he could. His hand reached over the end of the broom right next to Potter's. Draco tried to push his hand out of the way but he managed to keep it in place. Just as he thought he was close enough to wrap his fingers around the snitch he looked ahead to see they were heading straight for one of the stands. Potter kept flying straight giving him no room to move out of the way. He had to pull up his broom at the last second to stop himself from crashing. Potter continued past the edge of the stand, appearing seconds later, having circled round and come back to where Draco was sitting with his arms crossed. He was holding the snitch in his gloved hand with a smug grin on his face.

"That was a cheap move," Draco complained.

"But I still won!" Potter grinned at him, holding the snitch in one hand and his broom with the other. And Draco couldn't look away. He'd never seen Potter so in his element, his eyes watery from the wind and his cheeks tinted pink. He looked like a madman with his hair pointing in all directions and a manic smile on his face. He noticed Draco looking at his hair with amusement and ran a hand through it, fixing nothing. "Best of three?" he asked, out of breath.

\--

"Did you see that?" Harry said pointing towards the white trail of a star shooting across the sky.

They were lying side by side in the middle of the quidditch pitch, looking up at the stars. Harry had won two of their three games, which Draco had said was purely because he had a better broom. Harry had told him he was a sore loser. Both games had taken longer than the first and by the time they had finished it was almost 3 am. Somehow, Draco had ended up lying down on his back next to Harry and talking about nothing and anything. They were both probably over sharing and would regret it later, but Draco couldn't bring himself to care.

They were talking quietly as if raising their voices any louder would break the spell of calm that had surrounded them. It was like nothing in their past mattered in that moment, they were just two boys who liked quidditch and couldn't sleep. And Draco had never been more at peace.

It was weird how easily they could talk to each other and Draco was struck by just how much they had in common. He had shown Harry the Draco constellation, pointing out each star and telling him their names. Harry had listened intently and told him that despite their many astronomy lessons, the only constellation he could remember was the Big Dipper. Draco then listened as he explained how he would look for the Dipper at night when he looked out his window of his aunt and uncle's house, wishing he was back at Hogwarts. When he had asked why he wouldn't want to be with his aunt and uncle, Harry had seemed uncomfortable, so he dropped the subject.

"Yes."

"What did you wish for?"

"I'm not five Potter, I didn't wish for anything."

"Fine, I won't tell you my wish then."

"I don't want to know your stupid wish."

"You are such an asshole," Harry laughed.

Draco said nothing. He couldn't help the insults, it was almost ingrained into him at this point.

He turned to look at him then. He had always been infuriatingly handsome. It wasn't fair. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn't so goddamn attractive. With his scruffy black hair that was practically begging Draco to run his hands through it, either to smooth it out or mess it up more. He wasn't fussy. His brown skin was perfect and smooth, not a spot in sight, the only imperfection being the scar on his forehead. And even that was to be admired, though Harry had a habit of hiding it under his hair, as if that would stop people recognising him. His eyes were so green it almost looked unnatural. Draco had wondered on more than one occasion what he would look like in Slytherin robes. His eyes found themselves drifting down to his lips, they were slightly parted and so very tempting. He'd never looked at him up close for this long before.

Harry seemed to be lost in thought, oblivious to Draco's staring.

"You know, Ron and Hermione were the first friends I ever had."

"Really?" An image of eleven year old Harry in his oversized clothes and cute little smile popped into his head. He didn't know how anyone could not want to be friends with him.

"Yeah." He smiled fondly at the memory. But then he seemed to deflate and his smile slowly slid away. "I wasn't exactly popular as a kid."

Draco paused. "But everyone loves you."

"Maybe they do now," he sounded sceptical. He had started fiddling with a long bit of grass. "My aunt and uncle didn't like me much."

"The ones you live with?" He had assumed Harry had some relatives that looked after him but he always pictured a perfect family. He definitely didn't expect him to have the kind of family that made him shrink in on himself as soon as he mentioned them.

"I don't live with them anymore. I moved into Sirius' old house as soon as the war ended."

"That sounds lonely." It did, living alone in your dead godfather's house. Draco had never realised just how alone Harry was. Despite his fame and friends, he was just as lonely as Draco was. He supposed that was probably how he ended up with Pepper.

"It is," Harry said, still lost in his thoughts, Draco didn't think he meant to continue speaking when he mumbled, "but it's better than a cupboard."

"A cupboard?" he said with a confused laugh, thinking Harry was making some odd joke. It was a strange thing to say, why would he be living in a cupboard?

"Oh nothing, just... where I used to sleep when I was living with my aunt and uncle." He had said it so casually that Draco thought he must have misunderstood.

"You used to sleep in a cupboard?"

"Not like... a kitchen cupboard, it was a cupboard under the stairs," Harry clarified, as if Draco would now understand and not be completely disgusted.

"That doesn't make it any better," he said, all humour disappearing when he realised Harry was being serious. He had lifted himself onto his elbows and was looking down at Harry sideways now.

"What?" Harry said defensively, inexplicably confused at Draco's reaction. His hands had stopped playing with the grass and were now resting on his sides, arms wrapped folded over his stomach. Draco wondered if he was cold. He had put his Slytherin jumper back on over his quidditch robes but Harry had refused to put his own on, claiming he didn't feel the cold.

"Harry..." he said softly, unaware that he had used his first name. "Please tell me you know that's not normal."

"Of course I know it isn't. It's just not that big of a deal." He looked as if he'd rather be talking about anything else and Draco wondered if he had ever told anyone this before. Surely he had told his friends? They seemed like the kind of friends that told each other everything.

"It is a big deal." Draco couldn't believe Harry seemed so unbothered by this. Who makes a child sleep in a cupboard? He wasn't sure what else to say. He thought Harry had had a perfect life. He could tell by Harry's reluctance talk about it that there was more he wasn't telling him. He hadn't even meant to tell him this much.He felt suddenly angry towards Harry's family for treating him so badly. But that felt hypocritical. Hadn't he treated Harry just as badly? Draco felt a wave of guilt and frowned down at the grass.

"Can we not talk about this..." Draco's anger melted away at Harry's small voice. He turned his head to look over at him, he looked heart-breakingly sad. Draco wanted to hug him.

He also wanted to argue, but he didn't think he had any right to make Harry talk about anything he was uncomfortable with. He opened his mouth, about to change the subject but all he would think about was little Harry, being forced to sleep in a cupboard by the people who were supposed to love and protect him, and found he couldn't think of anything to lighten the mood. Harry was the more cheerful one of the two and Draco had next to no experience with comforting people. He felt a little lost.

Harry yawned, Draco knew it was fake. "I'm tired. Maybe we should get back."

He got up and held a hand out to Draco. With a resigned sigh, forcing himself to let the subject go, he reached up, took his hand and let Harry pull him to his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry this took so long to upload. I really didn't like the last chapter I uploaded so I deleted it (don't worry I haven't missed out anything important). And then I just didn't feel like writing for a while but I feel better now.
> 
> Anyway I hope you liked this chapter! It's my favourite so far. (By the way I really appreciated constructive criticism, I know my writing isn’t the best sometimes)


	7. Chapter 7

Harry had been having less nightmares since he came back to Hogwarts. Before, during the few months he spent alone in Grimmauld Place, he would have one almost every night. Now, it was more like once a week. He put it down to the comfort of having someone sleeping in the bed next to him. The creepy silence of Grimmauld Place didn’t exactly create the best atmosphere for sleeping. Not that having Malfoy close to him should be a comfort. Though somehow, Harry was beginning to suspect it was. Though he would still prefer to be sharing a room with Ron or Neville, or any of his friends really, it no longer seemed like the such a bad thing to have been put with Malfoy.

When he did wake up in the middle of the night, breathing heavily with sweat dripping off his forehead and soaking into his pillow, it was impossible to get back to sleep. His late night walks had become a regular thing, every time he’d slip out the door, hoping not to be overheard and would return just before he usually woke up. He had hoped no one had noticed, especially Malfoy.

The night before was different. As he had laid in bed, trying to escape the images his mind had conjured up, he wondered if maybe Malfoy was awake too. He never heard a sound from the other side of their room but that didn’t mean his roommate was asleep. Malfoy had seen just as many terrible things as him, it wouldn’t be a surprise if he also suffered from insomnia. 

Maybe it was the lack of sleep clouding his judgement, or maybe he really had come to enjoy Malfoy’s company more than he had anticipated, that lead to him asking-or telling really-Malfoy to walk with him. Either way, he didn’t regret it. He’d never felt more awake than he did flying around with Malfoy with the sound of their laughter mixing with the wind rushing past his ears.

And he’d never felt quite as he did when lying next to Malfoy in the grass as he told him things he’d never told anyone before. It must have been the strangeness of it being Malfoy that caused his heart to beat a little faster and his stomach to twist into a knot when he looked over at him to find him already looking back.

Harry may have talked a little more than he had intended. When he suggested the quidditch match, that was all he expected to happen, the talking was just an unexpected bonus. And it was nice. He never would have thought he’d enjoy just talking to Malfoy so much. He feels a little out of his depth if he’s honest. He only wanted to make things less awkward between them, but he seems to have gotten carried away.

Malfoy’s reaction to what he’d told him about his childhood surprised him. Hermione and Ron had had similar reactions but he didn’t expect Malfoy to care. He almost thought he’d make fun of him for it. But, as Harry had to keep reminding himself, Malfoy was trying to be better.

He knew how Vernon and Petunia had treated him wasn’t ok. But his default was to pretend it was normal. It made him feel slightly less broken. And he was ok with that. He would rather bury his feeling deep inside than confront them. But the problem with that was you can only bury so many things before you start to overflow. And that was what he had done, spilled all his feeling for Draco to see, and he had listened. It was like a weight had lifted off his shoulders.

Now, as Harry walked out of the entrance to the quidditch pitch after practice, he spotted a lonely figure sitting against a tree at the edge of the forbidden forest where the trees met the water of the Great Lake. There was no one else sitting outside. Probably because the sun was going down and the air growing chilly. Subconsciously, Harry slowed his pace as he continued to stare. Ron, who had kept walking at normal speed, looked back at him.   
“What’s wrong?”

Harry finally looked away. “Nothing. Hey, I’ll catch up with you, I’m gonna go for a walk.”

He gave a clearly confused Ron his broom with a promise to meet him and Hermione in the great hall, then started walking across the grass field to the edge of the forest, hoping Ron wasn’t paying too much attention to the direction he was going. 

“Okay,” Ron called after him, but he was too distracted to hear.

He hadn’t had a chance to talk to Malfoy all day. After they returned from their midnight quidditch game Harry had flopped down onto his bed and was out like a light. He’d slept in until noon-thankfully it was a Saturday-to find Malfoy’s bed empty and perfectly made. Then he’d been dragged into studying with Hermione and Ron in the library, where he hoped to see a familiar head of blond hair, but he was disappointed. He even looked in Malfoy’s usual hidden corner behind the back bookshelves but he was nowhere to be found. Harry got the feeling he was being avoided. He didn’t have too much time to dwell on this though as soon enough he was walking down to the quidditch pitch for practice and was distracted for two hours. Or he would have been, if every time he looked down at the now trodden and muddy grass, he didn’t see Malfoy lying next to him, stars reflected in his eyes as he pointed out constellations, head tilted slightly towards him. He had never played so badly.

Now that Harry had found Malfoy, he wasn’t going to let him slip away. He was worried he had scared Malfoy off. Though he seemed to have enjoyed himself too, Harry couldn’t help but feel they had crossed some line. There was no way Malfoy could deny they were something like friends now, at least not to Harry. He couldn’t help but feel a little smug. But now Malfoy was avoiding him and he felt like he needed to make sure Malfoy wasn’t going to shut him out.

He came to a stop a few feet away from Malfoy, who must have noticed him approach but didn’t look up.

“Aren’t you cold?” Harry wasn’t cold, but he had been flying around a quidditch pitch for the last two hours. Malfoy, however, was wearing a thin blue jumper-which Harry noted was the same shade as his eyes when they reflected the sky-and had been sitting out here for Merlin knew how long.

Malfoy still didn’t look up. He turned to the next page of his book as if he was hardly aware of Harry’s presence. “It’s called a warming charm Potter.”

“Right. Obviously.” Having grown up with Muggles, Harry didn’t naturally turn to magic as the solution to all his problems. “Can I sit?”

“Do you have to?”

“No. But I want to.”

Malfoy paused. “Do what you want Potter. I’m sure you will anyway.”

If Harry didn’t know better, he would have thought Malfoy really did want him to leave. But he had come to realise Malfoy sometimes said things he didn’t mean out of spite. So he knew this was as much of an invitation as Malfoy was willing to give. So he sat down and leaned back against the rough bark of the tree with his legs crossed. His shoulder brushed Malfoy’s and he ignored the warmth that bloomed from the point of contact. 

He looked around. It was a nice spot. They were sitting under a willow tree and the branches of the tree hung down around them like yellow and green curtains, partially obscuring them form view. The sky was red and made the already autumnal landscape glow even more orange.

“Merlin, you stink,” Malfoy said, drawing Harry’s attention back to him. Harry glanced down at himself. He was still in his quidditch robes. The material around his knees and elbows were entirely brown where he’d been knocked off his broom by a bludger and landed on the muddy ground. He couldn’t see his reflection but he knew his cheeks were probably flushed and his hair a mess. He saw movement out the corner of his eye and looked back up at Malfoy. He was putting his wand away. Harry felt a shiver run down his body.

“Sorry…” Harry said, a little offended.

Draco was looking at his hair as if it had personally offended him. “And your hair is even more of a disaster than usual. Do you own a comb?” Malfoy lifted a hand and for a strange moment Harry thought he might be reaching up to smooth his hair down. Seeming to realise what he was doing, he aborted the gesture half way and put his hand back in his lap. Harry pretended not to notice.

“I’ve been playing quidditch,” he defended half-heartedly, with a shrug.

“Yes. I assumed that from your attire.”

“Do you always talk so posh?” Harry said suddenly side-tracked.

Draco frowned at him. “I don’t talk posh. I speak properly.”

“Hmm. Sounds like something a posh person would say,” Harry grinned.

“It’s not my fault you have such low standards Potter.”

“Or maybe yours are too high.”

Draco scoffed. “You’d be surprised” Draco said, in a tone that suggested he was talking about something specific that Harry didn’t know about. “I’m sitting here with you, aren’t I?”

“Oh, come on. I’m not that bad.” Malfoy’s eyebrows quirked up. “Admit it. You enjoy my company.”

“I barely tolerate you.”

Harry huffed and crossed his arms. He was suppressing a smile. He hadn’t scared Malfoy off. Somehow, he had forced himself into his life enough that he didn’t even question it anymore. He pointedly ignored the small nagging part of his brain that was asking why he cared so much. That was a problem for another day.

He didn’t realise he was shivering until Malfoy pulled out his wand, waved it around a bit and then felt the air heat up around him.

“Thanks.” Malfoy ignored him.

He rolled his head to the side to peer down at Malfoy’s lap where his book lay open in his hand. “What are you reading?”

“Why are you so obsessed with what I’m reading?” 

“I just thought you might like to talk about it,” Harry shrugged. This was true, but it was also because Harry felt like he always talked about himself when he was with Malfoy, trying to fill any silences before it got awkward. He didn’t want to be the only one talking. He wanted to know pointless things about Malfoy. “Is it good?”

“I’m not finished yet.”

“Alright.” Harry made a quick decision, he had nothing else to do today and he didn’t have the energy to go anywhere. He already said he’d meet Hermione and Ron at dinner anyway. His knee bumped into Malfoy’s as he uncrossed his legs and stretched them out, getting into a more comfortable position. “Let me know when you’re finished.” 

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting.” Harry rubbed at his eyes sleepily. His lack of sleep and two hours of exercise were catching up to him. He closed his eyes for a second. Just to rest them.

“Don’t you have something better to do?”

“Than sit here and annoy you? Nope.”

“You’re not annoying me,” Malfoy said defiantly. Harry peaked one eye open to give him a look. He seemed to realise what he had said and immediately regretted it. “No, I take that back. You are the most annoying person I have ever met.”

“You love me.”

“I hate you,” Malfoy said.

Harry let out a soft laugh and didn’t reply. Harry listened as Malfoy turned page after page-he was a quick reader, Harry observed. Harry blamed Malfoy’s warming charm for how quickly his mind started to drift in and out of a dream, his breaths evening out. Soon enough, he was asleep.

\--

Harry had fallen asleep. This wouldn’t have been an issue if he didn’t look so goddamn beautiful in the orange light of the setting sun. Draco tried to concentrate on his reading. But all he could think about was the point where this shoulder met Harry’s and the way he had casually sat so close to him as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Honestly, he had come out here to get away from Harry. He needed some time to think. To work out why this was happening to him and how-or whether-he should stop it. He couldn’t go to the library since Harry had already discovered his spot and decided it was now his too, the selfish prick. So he’d decided to sit outside, forgetting that the Gryffindor quidditch team had practice. He didn’t keep up with the games anymore, it just made him sad that he couldn’t join in. 

He’d sat out in this spot a few times and found that no one liked to get close to the forest. Everyone else would sit scattered around the grass field in groups, as if they were afraid of what might be in the forest. Draco had been in there enough times to no longer be afraid. 

He looked over at Harry for the hundredth time, giving up on the paragraph he had attempted to reread just as many times. The beams of orange sunlight that shone through the leaves of the tree they sat under made Harry’s skin look almost golden. He was reminded of an article he’d read in the Prophet, they had called Potter their ‘Golden Boy’. He’d scoffed at it at the time, but now he could only think that it was fitting. Even his Gryffindor tie had stripes of gold. He shone so bright Draco forced himself to look away.

He distracted himself with his book and it worked for a while, he was getting to a good bit. 

Since he wasn’t awake, Harry couldn’t bother him with his incessant talking. But it turned out, even when unconscious, Harry found a way to torment him. Forty pages from the end of his book, Draco felt a pressure on his shoulder and something tickle his neck. He almost jumped at the contact and looked to his left, finding Harry’s head of messy black hair just a few inches from his face. Without Draco noticing, Harry’s head had lulled to the side until it rested lightly on his shoulder. He tensed up, staying as still as possible.

He sat, unmoving for at least a minuet with no idea what to do. He couldn’t shove him off, he’d probably wake up. But if he left him and he woke up on his own and found that Draco hadn’t pushed him away, it would be even more awkward.

And he looked so peaceful. There were no frown lines on his forehead and the usually permanent crease between his eyebrows had smoothed out as if it never existed. He looked completely relaxed with his arms loosely draped over his middle, his chest slowly rising and falling rhythmically. Draco had noticed how tired he looked as he approached, dark circles and a slight droop to his eyes. It made him feel a bit guilty that he was partly to blame. Maybe he should let him sleep. It’s not like it mattered either way, both options would end in Draco being embarrassed. He tried to relax. It wasn’t a big deal. Potter had fallen asleep on him not the other way around. He would finish the rest of his book and then wake Potter up. Maybe he wouldn’t even notice if he pushed him away quick enough.

Ignoring the urge to rest his head on top of Harry’s and the lean into the warmth that radiated off his body, Draco turned back to his book, determined to finish it.

He did finish, albeit slowly. At one point Harry had shifted and nuzzled further into the crook of his neck, sighing in contentment. And Draco felt like he might explode. What exactly had happened to lead to Harry Potter, someone who had almost killed him once, being comfortable enough to fall asleep on his shoulder?

The movement had knocked his glasses from one ear and they had hung awkwardly, digging into Draco’s skin. Gently, he had taken them between his fingers, pulled them off and placed them on the grass. 

No matter how much he was enjoying the feeling of Harry’s nose pressing gently into his collarbone and his warm breath fanning across his skin, he didn’t want him waking up and pushing him away. Gently, he put a hand on Harry’s opposite shoulder and shook him, managing to push him away at the same time. Harry frowned, his lips forming a slight pout as he blearily blinked his eyes open. Draco was once again reminded that Harry had the most gorgeous eyes and the sight of them under half close eyelids almost made Draco gasp. He hoped Harry didn’t notice.

“You were snoring,” Draco lied. He avoided looking at Harry, feeling tense. He almost expected Harry to start accusing him of being a creep.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t think I was that tired,” he muttered to himself.

“Maybe you shouldn’t stay up all night playing quidditch,” Draco said just as quietly. He was irrationally unsure whether he was allowed to mention the night before. He was still waiting for Harry to get bored and stop talking to him. It felt easier to give him the option to back out if he wanted to, to pretend this last month never happened and go back to hating each other. But now Draco knew how it could be, he desperately didn’t want that to happen. He wanted Harry to seek him out when he thought he didn’t want to be found. It was becoming apparent he always wanted Harry to find him. He wanted Harry to smile at him the way he did last night, with his eyes crinkled around the edges and his nose scrunched up in the most adorable way.

Most of all, he didn’t want to be friends, not really. But he would take any part of Harry he was willing to give. Even if it hurt him when Harry eventually remembered why he hated Draco in the first place.  
Harry was searching in the grass for his glasses. 

“Here. They fell off while you were sleeping,” Draco said holding them out for Harry to take. He took them and slid them back into place.

“What time is it?”

“6:15,” Draco replied, still not looking at him. He found it hard to look at Harry.

“Did you finish the book?” He asked as he stretched his arms out to the side, almost hitting Draco in the face. 

“Yes.” 

“Great,” Harry said as he got up. “Are you coming?” he asked Draco, who looked up at him in surprise.

“Where to?”

“Dinner?”

Oh right. That.

He was considering skipping dinner. The quiet of being outside was so much more appealing than the rowdiness of the Great Hall when it was full of students. Draco remembered telling Harry the night before that he hated eating in the great hall and Harry had said he did too. Draco had just frowned at him. He found it hard to believe. Draco hated it because being around so many people made him feel more alone than when he actually was on his own. He felt bad about being so distant with Pansy and Blaise. They did try to include him but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were fed up with his moodiness, and that made him feel even worse. Other students wouldn’t even glance in their direction unless it was to glare at them. And when he’d look over to the Gryffindor table, he would see Harry laughing along to something Weasley or Granger had said. So he didn’t understand how Harry could hate it.

“Um…” he searched for an excuse not to but gave up when he realised he was fighting a losing battle. And he wanted to spend more time with Harry anyway, even if he hated that he did. “Okay.”  
Harry reached a hand down and Draco reluctantly took it, letting himself be pulled up. He brushed the grass from his trousers and picked up his things. 

“Was it good?” Harry asked as they started in the direction of the castle. “The book, I mean.”

“Yes.”

“What was it about?” He really was relentless, Draco thought. There was no way he actually cared what he was reading and Draco couldn’t think of any other reason, that wasn’t just him being pathetically delusional, for why he would be asking. Still, he begun to explain the premise and the walk back to the castle was filled with Harry asking pointless questions which Draco answered nonetheless. By the time they reached the Great Hall, Harry knew the entire plot, along with Draco’s favourite and least favourite characters. He was trying to suppress the grin that was threatening to take over his features but it was impossible.

Harry smiled at him when they reached the doors and clapped a hand on Draco’s shoulder. It was the kind of gesture you saw guys do with their friends because they thought they were too manly to hug. “See you later, then.” Harry let go of his shoulder with a squeeze, his fingers brushing down Draco’s arm as he lowered it and walked away. Draco’s hand followed as if it were magnetically attached to Harry’s.

Harry walked through the doors and to the Gryffindor table while Draco went in the opposite direction to meet his friends at the Slytherin one. Draco tried to keep his attention on them and not the other side of the hall. He really did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Sorry I stopped updating for like a month or two. I just really didn't feel like it but I’m back and very motivated to finish this. Hopefully I will be back to weekly updates and if not then at least fortnightly. (I also have a new job so I don’t have as much time to write but we’ll see)
> 
> There are some things in the previous chapters that I really want to change but I’m going to wait till the end then edit the whole thing
> 
> I feel like I sometimes waffle on and nothing actually happens? I hope you guys don’t think that but I promise stuff will actually happen in this fic


	8. Chapter 8

“Do you think Harry’s been acting strange lately?” Ron asked, breaking the silence that had settled between him and Hermione for the last half hour. They were lying on one of the longer sofas in the common room, Hermione sitting between Ron outstretched legs. She was reading an old book from the library about Magical law and Ron’s arms were wrapped about her waist and his chin rested on her shoulder.

“Harry’s always acting strange,” Hermione said dismissively.

“Yeah, but he keeps sneaking off and he’s so distracted all the time,” Ron insisted. “And he’s nearly fallen asleep in class at least three times this week.”

“You know he has nightmares, Ron. He doesn’t get much sleep.”

“Well that’s not surprising when he’s being forced to share a room with Malfoy,” Ron said his name with disgust, like he couldn’t believe his friend was being put through something so terrible. Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’s probably terrified for his life. But that doesn’t explain the other stuff.”

Hermione paused then, choosing her words carefully, she said, “Him and Malfoy seem to be getting on fine…”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? That’s just more proof he’s gone mental.”

“Malfoy isn’t as bad as he used to be.”

“Well yeah, because he doesn’t want to get expelled. That doesn’t mean he isn’t still a prick on the inside.”

“As long as Harry is happy it doesn’t really matter.”

“We don’t know that. It could be hell and he’s just not telling us.”

Hermione thought of Harry switching tables in potions to sit with Malfoy, of all the times he’d snuck off to the library or to hide up in his room. She thought of all the times she’d seen Harry looking over at the Slytherin table and the grin that formed when he caught Malfoy’s eye. Malfoy would just roll his eyes and look away but even from the other side of the hall Hermione could see that he was suppressing a smile. It had been slightly jarring the first time she’d seen it happen. Now it was a common occurrence and the only thing she took note of was the fact that Malfoy had relented and started smiling back.

Even just now, Harry had been sitting with them until he suddenly got up and said he was going to get something from his room, where she knew Malfoy had been all day, only to not return for an hour.  
So yes, she’d noticed that Harry was acting strange. She hadn’t mention it because she was almost sure she knew what was going on and she wished Harry would just talk to her about it because she was just as sure he didn’t. She was worried Harry was too scared to talk about it. She didn’t think she’d ever done anything to make him think that she’d judge him. She hoped she hadn’t.

She should subtly bring it up. But she had no idea how to do that. Harry could be pretty dense, so she couldn’t be too subtle. But “hey Harry, just wondered if maybe the reason you’ve been obsessed with Malfoy for the past 8 years and why you’ve now practically forced him to be your friend is actually because you have a crush on him rather than because he’s evil like you thought?” seemed slightly too accusatory.

As always, she was worried about him. Harry was the kind of person to follow his heart without thinking, and right now it seemed to be pointing him towards Malfoy and possibly towards heartbreak. And as much as she thinks he’s changed, she didn’t trust Malfoy not to hurt her best friend. She felt an irrational need to protect him. She knew he could take care of himself, but sometimes he made questionable decisions when left to his own devices. Like giving his heart to someone who, as far as she knew, would likely throw it away without a second glance.

Then again, she should have a bit more faith in Harry. If he thought Malfoy was trustworthy, then so should she. Maybe Harry knew exactly what he was doing and she was worried for no reason. Maybe she had misjudged the whole situation and they really were just friends. It was none of her business anyway.

She mentally shook herself out of her thoughts. Eventually she would talk to Ron about it, but she wanted to be sure before she did that. She wanted to put off Ron’s inevitable freak out at the idea of Harry liking Malfoy for as long as possible.

“I don’t know. They’re always laughing together in potions,” she said, deciding Ron at least needed to get used to the idea of Harry and Malfoy being friends.

“That can’t be right,” Ron joked. “I doubt Malfoy’s sense of humour extends past laughing at other people’s misfortune.”

“I think you’re being a little harsh,” Hermione said, only half believing her own words. She didn’t know why she was defending Malfoy, but if anything became of Harry’s possible feelings, they might be seeing more of him and it would be better if they all got along.

“No, you’re just too forgiving.”

“You need to learn to let things go.” “We were stupid teenagers. What if he really does want to be better?”

Ron turned to look at her properly. Seeming to realise she was being serious, he frowned. “Do you believe that?”

“Maybe.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to trust you then. You are always right after all.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes, turning to peck Ron on the lips. “It’s lunch time. I’m going to see where Harry’s got to.”

Even if Harry was too distracted with Malfoy to think about eating, she was going to make sure he didn’t starve himself. He’d already suggested they eat in the kitchens because he doesn’t like the Great Hall, something about feeling like people were staring at him. To be fair to Harry, every time he walked through the doors, about half the heads in the room turned towards him. She couldn’t blame him for feeling self-conscious. It was bad enough for her and Ron, she couldn’t imagine how fed up Harry was with the attention. He’d never liked it and it was enough to make anyone want to hide from the world. Which was exactly what he had been doing all summer. She was just glad she managed to convinced him to come back to Hogwarts with them. It was hard enough keeping an eye on him now, let alone if she only saw him during the holidays.

She wished the papers would stop writing about him. Luckily Harry refused to read anything but the Quibbler, which Luna gave to him for free. That didn’t stop him from catching glimpses of articles about how he was coping after the war and who he was dating and how he was doing at school. Most of it wasn’t even true. The other week they’d once again decided that she and Harry were secretly in love. Ron had just laughed at that one. She was glad he didn’t take it seriously, his trust meant a lot to her, especially when she knew it didn’t come easily to him.

Despite her suspicions of Malfoy, she was glad Harry now had someone else to talk to. It was obvious Harry felt awkward around her and Ron sometimes, like he was intruding on their relationship. It wasn’t true, obviously. They always had time for Harry. But if it made him feel better to give them space, she’d rather he wasn’t alone.

Hermione pried Ron’s arms from around her waist, ignored his protests and grabby hands and started up the steps to Harry’s room.

She expected to hear muffled voices as she approached the door but she was met with silence even as she knocked lightly before pushing the door open. What she hadn’t expected was to find Harry and Malfoy both sitting on their window seat, facing each other, while Malfoy painted Harry’s nails.

Malfoy stopped when he heard Hermione open the door and quickly drew his hand back. He didn’t look guilty, just a bit startled at being caught. Probably because Harry wasn’t actually aware of what he was doing, since he was asleep.

Draco had his feet up with his knees to his chest while Harry’s legs were sprawled half on, half off the seat, with one knee bent up and the other hanging off the edge. Malfoy was leaning over his bent legs, the pot of nail varnish in one hand and the brush in the other. Pepper was curled up on the seat between them looking very comfortable. Had Hermione not known that Harry and Malfoy had formed some weird friendship over the last few months she would have been surprised. Pepper generally only liked whoever Harry liked and tried to scratch anyone else, but she seemed perfectly happy with her head against Malfoy’s ankle. They looked cosy. Like it was something they did all the time without a thought, sitting together so close and comfortable.

Harry, having been disturbed by the sound of the door opening, shifted and slowly blinked his eyes open. He looked over at Malfoy and then at his hand.

“Oi,” Harry grumbled sleepily, pulling his hand away from where it had been gripped between Malfoy’s fingers. “You asshole.”

“What?” Malfoy said innocently, looking back at Harry. “I think it’s an improvement.”

Harry just pouted exaggeratedly and frowned down at his fingers.

Hermione was caught off guard. It felt like something she wasn’t supposed to be seeing. So far Harry hadn’t really been open about his friendship with Malfoy and she felt like she was intruding. She struggled to start a sentence until finally she got out, “Um... Harry, me and Ron were going to head down for lunch. Are you coming?”

Harry jumped at the sound of her voice and looked over at her in surprise. Clearly, he had been too preoccupied to noticed her standing in the doorway. “Oh, hey Hermione,” he said. He glanced quickly at Malfoy, looking wary. “I’ll be down in just a second.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes but recognised the subtle dismissal and turned to leave. “Ok,” she nodded, hesitated by the door, then finally closed it behind her.

Right. She needed to talk to Ron.

—

The door shut behind Hermione as she walked out of the room. Harry looked back at Draco who was closely examining his own nails. Clearly, he had got bored after finishing his own and decided to start on Harry, without his permission.

Harry used to find it impossible to tell what Draco was thinking, his perfect poker face never giving anything away. It was like he constantly had a guard up, as if he was trying to hide what he felt. It was frustrating, but it also made it all the more rewarding when Harry caught a glimpse of emotion. He had started trying to make him laugh at every opportunity, just to see his eyes light up. It was the only time he was completely open.

Now, Harry knew him well enough to know something was bothering him. As soon as Hermione had come in, he’d tensed up and drew back into himself. It was almost as if he was embarrassed. Harry hoped Draco wasn’t embarrassed to be his friend.

Since they spent most of their time together either in their room, the library or at night, no one had really noticed the shift between rivals to friends. They still got odd looks whenever people saw them walking together. Harry was surprised the whole school didn’t know considering how much they seemed to like gossiping about his life. It was probably because they didn’t like the idea of him forgiving Draco. Then they might have to do the same. They seemed much too comfortable blaming Draco for all the misfortune they’d experienced during the war, since he was the only (former) Death Eater they saw on the regular.

He wished they could see how much Draco had hated it. How he never really wanted to hurt anyone, but was unlucky enough to be a convenient tool for Voldemort to use. What was he supposed to do? Say no to one of the most powerful wizards ever born? Draco never talked about what it had been like to be trapped in a house with Voldemort for all those months, or what had actually happened, but it wasn’t hard for Harry to guess. He had thought about it a lot lately, what he would have done in Draco’s position. If anything, it was a miracle he had survived at all. Harry was glad he had.

Harry and Draco’s late night quidditch games had become a regular thing, and after not sleeping all night, Harry had formed a habit of sleeping during the day. Usually coming to find wherever Draco was sitting quietly reading and falling asleep next to him. Draco didn’t seem to mind. Which was why today, before he was rudely awoken by Hermione, he had left his friends in the common room and come to find Draco in their room. He did not however, come for a manicure.

“Can you even remove this stuff?” He held his hands in front of his face. “Why exactly did you feel the need to paint my nails?”

“Your hand was just hanging there. I couldn’t not do it.”

Harry gave him an unimpressed look. “It’s only on one hand…”

Draco perked up. “I can do the other one.”

Harry paused, looking from his hands to Draco. Why not?

“I hate you,” he said, holding his hand out to Draco. 

“Next we could try eyeliner.”

Harry scoffed at the idea. “Don’t push your luck.”

He leaned his head against the raindrop spattered window, eyes still heavy from his nap. He sighed softly as he watched Draco dip the brush and gently grab his hand again. It was silent but for the heavy raindrops hitting the window pane and Harry’s eyes travelled from Draco’s long fingers up his arm to where he knew the dark mark was hidden beneath his sleeve. He could almost see the outline of it beneath his thin, white shirt. He was always wearing long sleeves. In fact, Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him wear anything but his plain white dress shirt since 6th year. He wasn’t surprised, people reacted badly enough to Draco without him displaying a reminder of his mistakes on his arm.

Harry’s attention was pulled from Draco’s arms to his face as he tilted it to see better. He had never really looked at Draco properly before. He was actually quite attractive, Harry thought. Pretty even. It felt somehow fitting that Draco had perfect bone structure, everything about him had an air of superiority. His cheekbones and jaw line were sharp enough to cut and his hair, even now when free of jell, was that kind of effortlessly neat that Harry could never hope to achieve. His nose was perfectly upturned, in contrast to Harry’s broken one (courtesy of Draco himself), making his features look delicate. And of course, his lips were a lovely shade of pink, plump and curved into a permanent frown, the only contradiction to his air of elegance. 

His long blond eyelashes obscured clear grey eyes that changed colour in different lighting. Eyes that met Harry’s as Draco glanced up for a second then did a double take, looking startled. “What? Have I got something on my face?” He reached up to touch his cheek, forgetting about the brush he was still holding and smearing a line of green onto the bridge of his nose.

Harry snorted softly and said, “You do now.”

He reached for the tissue Draco had set aside in case of any mistakes and balled it up in one hand. Draco’s eyes widened slightly and he tensed as Harry leaned forward and reached up to gently hold his face still. His skin was warm and soft beneath Harry’s fingertips and as he accidentally brushed past Draco’s bottom lip, something stirred in the pit of his stomach that he forcibly pushed down. Draco’s unreadable eyes searched his face as he lifted the tissue and pressed it to his nose. Harry felt overly aware of how close they were in a way he hadn’t been before. The paint hadn’t had time to dry so it came away easily and Harry smiled and gave Draco’s cheek a pat, leaning back and averting his eyes a little too fast to be natural. “All gone.”

Draco looked slightly dazed when Harry glanced back at him, before he visibly composed himself, his face returning to its usual neutral expression. He reached behind him and returned the pot to his bedside table, then gave Pepper’s head a scratch, looking dejected. Harry didn’t know whether he was still upset about Hermione walking in or if there was something else bothering him.

Harry cleared his throat. “We should probably get going. Don’t want to get there after all the good food is gone.”

Just like always at the mention of eating in the great hall, Draco seemed reluctant. Harry understood. He had tried to convince his friends to come with him to eat in the kitchens. The house elves had been very welcoming when he visited them a week into term, telling him they would cook anything for the saviour of the Wizarding World. He wasn’t one to abuse his power as the ‘Chosen One’ but when it came to food, he might have to make an exception. Besides, they seemed more than happy to set aside a meal for him. But when he had proposed this idea to his friends, they had called him antisocial and told him he should try to enjoy Hogwarts as a normal student for once. Ron had been more reluctant at the mention of extra food but in the end, he had sided with Hermione.

Maybe he should ask Draco if he wanted to eat in the kitchens with him.

He had noticed that Draco never ate breakfast and assumed it was because he didn’t like being in the Great Hall. He had also noticed that Draco was very skinny. His wrists were bony where they stuck out from his sleeves and his cheekbones were even more prominent than usual. He wondered if it was a conscious choice to eat less or a result of feeling uncomfortable around the other students. Either way, Harry was determined to get the him to eat more.

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.” Harry grabbed Draco’s arm and yanked him up. “You have to eat something.”

“Can’t you bring some food up for me?” Draco said hopefully.

“No.”

Draco gave an over-dramatic sigh but followed when Harry held the door open for him.

\--

“Harry have you painted your nails?” a voice said to his right when he finally sat down at the Gryffindor table for lunch. He turned to see a head of long ginger hair and Ginny smiling at him. Across the table, opposite Ginny, sat Luna. The two girls had been spending a lot of time together since the start of the year, enough that no one questioned why Luna wasn’t sitting at the Ravenclaw table. They had been lucky enough to be put in a room together and were now inseparable.

Harry reflexively retracted his hands from where they were resting besides his plate and closed them into fists to hide his nails. “Huh?”

“Your nails are black,” Luna said. She only sounded curious, but Harry felt like he was being ganged up on.

“No, they’re not.” They were dark green.

Ginny reached out a hand and pried Harry’s free and unfurled his fingers. “Who did those? Because it definitely wasn’t you, they’re too neat,” Ginny said, admiring his fingers.

He started to protest but then caught Hermione’s eye and gave up. He narrowed his eyes at her and she shrugged. “Malfoy...” Harry mumbled.

Ginny frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“He said Malfoy did them,” Hermione supplied helpfully. Harry glared at her.

“I thought you and Malfoy hated each other?”

“Harry and Draco are quite close friends now, didn’t you know?” Luna said in her airy voice. Harry looked at her in surprise.

“Really?” Ginny turned back to him, a curious smirk on her face.

Harry sputtered for a second, feeling weirdly uncomfortable talking to Ginny about Draco. He still didn’t know where he stood with her. Though their break up had been mutual he worried it was because he was a bad boyfriend. Sometimes he wondered if she held a grudge against him for not being better. She seemed fine, but then Harry had never been very good at reading people.

“Well he’s not really got a choice, has he? It’s either that or be miserable for a whole year. Right Harry?” Ron said because he was a good friend and knew when Harry needed saving.

Harry went to agree, because that was the reason he started bothering Draco in the first place, wasn’t it? But then he stopped. He hadn’t really thought about it since he’d first sat with Malfoy in potions, something he did now without thinking. But it wasn’t like that anymore. He liked Draco, and he liked spending time with him.

He honestly wouldn’t want to share a room with anyone else. Maybe not even Ron. With Draco, there were no expectations. He didn’t have to be ‘the boy who lived’, some hero he didn’t feel like he was, because Draco didn’t treat him that way. He treated him the way he always had, albeit a little nicer, and Harry appreciated that. He needed people who didn’t take his shit and that understood what he’d been through. The expectation and pressure he’d been under from such a young age. There were very few people who understood, but Draco was definitely one of them.

But he couldn’t tell his friends that. He thought about how uncomfortable Draco had been when Hermione walked into their room. He clearly didn’t want people knowing.

It was probably easier to agree. He tried to put up a front of coolness, like the thought didn’t cause a lump of ice to form in this chest. Turning his attention back to his friends, he shrugged and said “Yeah… That’s all it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually ask for comments but feedback would be appreciated because I'm not sure about this chapter. Anyway I hope you liked this, it was meant to be a fun filler chapter where Draco paints Harry's nails while he's sleeping but it turned into Hermione's thoughts on Harry's crush on Draco.


	9. Chapter 9

_All Draco could see was red. The light was blinding, or that could have been the pain, dulling his senses until all he could focus on was the agony burning through his body. A scream was ripped from his throat against his will, echoing around him until it was all he could hear._

_Then, almost as suddenly as it had started, pain vanished but the red remained. Not a blinding light nut a pair of eyes. Snake-like eyes, in an inhuman face. Eyes that promised more pain, that paralysed Draco with fear._

_A voice filled his head, a voice that brought past terror back from where he had buried it, refusing to let it haunt him. But it would always be there. Just under the surface, ready to re-emerge as soon as he lost control of his thoughts._

_The voice was talking. Telling him what he must do. Telling him what would happen if he didn’t. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, not anymore. He didn’t want to kill anyone._

_The red light was back. This time without the pain. At least not his own. His mother’s screams filled the room that had materialised around him. A room that should have brought back memories of childhood and nostalgia but instead made him feel sick to his stomach. There was a dark figure, the same dark figure that had stood over Draco. It was standing over someone else now, his mother. Draco tried to cover his ears but the noise was inside his head. She was pleading with the figure. Begging him to stop._

_“You can stop this Draco,” that same voice in his ear, like the hiss of a snake. The words felt like venom through his veins._

_What choice did he have?_

_He was no longer in the room with the figure and his mother. He was atop a tower, staring into old eyes. Eyes that looked back at him, pleading him to let himself be helped. He saw those same eyes as the life was drained away from them, a flash of green and then falling, his last hope gone. But it wasn’t his last hope. It never had been._

_“Draco,” another voice said._

_A voice that was gentle. A voice that had become so familiar to him, bringing light into darkness when he couldn’t bring himself to find it himself. A light that was getting brighter by the second until he was opening his eyes and staring, not into blue or red, but into a beautiful green. Like the colour of a forest, the colour of his tie and the eyes of the boy he loved._

Draco threw out an arm, removing the hand that was gripping his shoulder, shaking him. “Let me go!” he said through a whimper, panic seeping through his voice in his disorientation. He kicked out, pushing himself back against the headboard of his bed and away from the person standing over him. With his heart still beating rapidly, his eyes moved frantically around the room, looking for the dark figure but finding only Harry with his hands up and a guilty look on his face.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you,” Harry said, taking a step back from his bed. He had his wand in hand, lit so Draco could see him clearly in the darkness.

“What are you doing?” Draco’s voice wobbled, making him realise only then that he was shaking. He balled his hands into fists, trying to hide their tremor from Harry. Through his dwindling panic he felt embarrassment start to rise up, and with it a guardedness. Harry wasn’t supposed to see him like this, vulnerable and fragile. He did the only thing he knew how to do when he felt venerable, he glared at Harry as if it were his fault.

“You were having a nightmare... I- you were talking in your sleep,” Harry said. He looked as panicked as Draco felt, like he was expecting Draco to start shouting at him any second and wasn’t really sure what to do about it. When Draco said nothing and continued to maintain his glare, though his heart wasn’t in it, Harry averted his eyes and awkwardly pointed his thumb over his shoulder and said, “Um… I’ll just...”

Draco’s heart sank as he realised he desperately didn’t want to be alone right now.

“Wait,” Draco said, finally catching his breath enough to speak, his mouth moving before he could think better of it. “Don’t go...”

He felt pathetic, sitting in a mess of covers staring wide eyed at Harry, pleading him not to leave him alone. He couldn’t spend the rest of the night unable to sleep, trying to put those memories back in their box to be ignored for as long as he could. It sapped all his energy, trying to pretend like he was fine.

Harry stared at him for a moment, and Draco almost thought he would say no. He felt some tension leave his body as Harry nodded and reluctantly said, “Ok…”

The two boys looked at each other, neither wanting to be the first to move and both wondering exactly what Draco had meant by ‘don’t go’. Draco knew what he wanted it to mean. But the thought of actually asking made his stomach churn even more than it already was. Draco looked away and settled back under his covers, leaving a space next to him. He crossing his arms over his chest in a subconscious gesture of vulnerability, as if that might him stop him from falling apart. He knew Harry wouldn’t take the hint but despite himself, he hoped he might anyway.

To his surprise, Harry stepped back up to his bed and carefully sat down. He muttered ‘nox’, extinguishing the light from his wand and set it aside. Draco could only make out the outlie of Harry’s body and a few features from the moonlight streaming in through the window. One of them should have closed the curtains before they went to bed but right now Draco couldn’t move. He took a deep breath, still staring up at the canopy blinking just a little too often, his jaw tense. Harry twisted round so he was looking at Draco. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly as he tried to meet Draco’s shining eyes.

Draco shook his head and Harry nodded once, looking away.

Talking about it meant thinking about it and he planned to never do that again. It had worked to a point so far, why should he put himself through that just because Harry asked him to? He didn’t want to hear about Draco’s problems. He’d been through far worse. He’d probably think Draco was weak, and he wouldn’t disagree. He didn’t want Harry to know he was weak.

Instead, he let himself focus on Harry. Letting his mind wander where he usually wouldn’t let it. With Harry’s back turned, Draco allowed himself to look at him, sitting on the edge of his bed in his Gryffindor pyjamas, back slouched with his hands in his lap. He looked tired. Draco felt suddenly guilty for waking him up. His heart was still beating hard enough for him to hear and Harry silently sitting close enough on his bed for him to reach out and touch was not helping to calm it down. He was afraid Harry might hear it too, through the quiet of their room. If he did, he didn’t mention it. He was staring at his own bed, looking as if he was considering something. Before Draco could think about what that might be, he seemed to come to a decision and turned to face him.

Draco’s eyes quickly darted back up before Harry could realise he had been watching him. Oblivious, Harry slid back on his arm and lifted his legs onto the bed, until he was settled on his side on top of the covers, facing Draco. He put an arm under his head, the other resting on the sheets between them. Draco could feel his gaze on the side of his face but refused to look. Of all the times he’d imagined Harry in his bed, never had be pictured himself unable to look at the other boy. In fact, it was usually quite the opposite.

With Harry looking at him, he became aware of the fact that he was still shaking.

Before he could worry too much about Harry noticing, another weight joined them on the bed and Draco felt four paws on his chest as Pepper climbed over him into the space between him and Harry. He exhaled sharply in an almost laugh, not quite relaxed enough to smile. Pepper looked at him like she knew exactly what he was thinking and pointedly positioned herself between the two on the mattress, creating a kind of barrier. Feeling oddly comforted by this, Draco chanced a look at Harry and found him looking back with blatant, unconcealed concern written on his face. His eyes were roaming Draco’s face, searching for any sign of lingering distress. Giving in, Draco took a deep breath and shifted onto his side so he was facing Harry properly.

He wasn’t wearing his glasses. He looked different without them. Draco wasn’t sure if he liked it. Those hideous things somehow suited him.

“I get nightmares too,” Harry mumbled after a while. Draco’s heart clenched inexplicably. It was nothing he didn’t already know, but something about how small Harry sounded made him want to close the distance between them and wrap his arms around him, whether to comfort Harry or himself he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was both.

“I know,” he said just as quietly.

Harry gave him a sad smile. He didn’t say anything more and Draco didn’t want him to. To know he wasn’t alone, that he was safe, was enough. Harry made him feel safe.

Draco watched as Harry closed his eyes.

“Go back to sleep Draco,” Harry whispered, somehow knowing without looking that Draco hadn’t followed his lead and was still staring intently at him. Draco had never liked the sound of his own name more than when it slipped from Harry’s lips, almost as if by accident. Finally, Draco copied him, forcing himself to squeeze his eyes closed and be fully consumed by darkness. He focused on the sound of soft puffs of air escaping Harry’s slightly parted lips, letting it relax him until his heartbeat had calmed down and he was drifting off into a dreamless sleep. 

\--

Draco woke up the next morning to the sound of birds chirping and for a few blissful seconds his mind was completely blank but for the feeling of the soft covers surrounding his body and the warmth of sunlight on his face. He squinted against the bright light and blinked his eyes open. He knew he should have shut that curtain. It would have saved him the torture of seeing Harry’s adorable bedhead and Pepper sprawled out next to his chest, hidden under his arm. Draco almost jumped at the sight of another person in his bed but relaxed when the memories of the night before came flooding back. A blush had darkened his cheeks before he could stop it. This was why he put up silencing charms around his bed every night. To stop this exact thing from happening. He must have forgotten to cast them, been too distracted. He and Harry had been talking. He didn’t even remember going to sleep.

Why had he asked Harry to stay? Why couldn’t he have just let him go so Harry didn’t have to see him being so pathetic. How needy had he sounded? Practically begging him to sleep in his bed. Merlin, he really was a fucking mess. Not for the first time he asked himself how and when he had let himself become so ridiculously pitiful that he had to resort to bothering Harry with his problems. He’s not even sure he prefers this to who he was before.

No. This was marginally better. At least he wasn’t willingly part of a cult lead by a sadistic maniac anymore.

The peaceful quiet of the morning was a startling contrast to the tension of night before. Never had he woken up the morning after a nightmare and not felt like complete shit. This was the complete opposite; he could sit right here in this moment forever.

But he wasn’t self destructive enough to let himself.

Draco retracted his hand that had wandered across the bedsheets towards Harry’s in his sleep, just the tip of his little finger touching the soft skin of Harry’s hand.

This was too much. He could deal with Harry deciding they were the ‘best of friends’ but he drew the line at _snuggling_ in bed together (not that they did much snuggling, unfortunately). He may as well rip his heart out now and be done with it. It’s not that he would have preferred to wake up to Harry gone, that would have left him hurt and worried he’d ruined everything. But this was encouraging the feelings he had worked so hard to stamp down for years.

He was already in dangerous territory. His stupid little school boy crush had turned into something much more destructive and terrifying. He could deal with a crush. He could ignore it, pretend it didn’t exist and wait for it to go away. But love? What the fuck was he supposed to do about that?

In the back of his mind Draco knew he’d let this go too far. He couldn’t be friends with Harry. It would only end in him getting his heart broken. Harry didn’t even want people to know they were _friends._ He was _ashamed_ of him and still Draco couldn’t stay away. But he didn’t want to be his dirty little secret.

Despite being fully aware of this, he knew he would just let it happen, because what else was he going to do? Tell Harry to stop, to never speak to him again? Like he had the will power to look Harry in the eye and tell him to leave him alone. Harry made everything easier. When he started to believe the words of other students, of the Prophet, Harry would be there to show him it didn’t matter. If _Harry Potter_ could stand to be around him, he couldn’t be as bad as everyone thought.

Plus, he would finally let himself admit it, he knew, for some reason, Harry enjoyed his company. Even if it was just to get away from his friends and their dopey eyes. He didn’t want to cause Harry any more pain. He’d let his heart be broken into a million pieces if it meant Harry never felt anything like that again. He’d been hurt too many times already in his life. Which didn’t make sense. He didn’t put other people before himself, besides maybe his mother. He had always been selfish.

Draco stopped staring like a creep and slid out from under the covers, trying not to disturb Harry but failing miserably in his rush to put some distance between them. He twisted round to see Harry’s eyes fluttering open to squint up at him.

“Morning,” he said, pushing thoughts of love deep down, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to function. He shouldn’t feel nervous about this. It was a perfectly normal thing for friends to do, and that was that they were now. Friends slept in the same bed all the time, he was being ridiculous, as usual.

Harry just groaned in response, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his hands. “What time is it?” he said in a sleepy voice.

Draco reached for his wand from his bedside table, casting a _Tempus_. “7:45 am,” he said, turning back to Harry. He was looking up at him through sleepy half lidded eyes and Draco suddenly found the wall extremely interesting.

It was only then that he realised Harry had been sleeping on top of the covers all night.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Harry shrugged.

“You could have used the covers you know,” he muttered, picking his uniform up from where it was folded on his chair.

Harry stretched his arms over his head, groaning. “Why? Did you want to cuddle?”

Draco had to turn his back to Harry, pretending to unfold his black trousers, to hide the scarlet blush that rose to his cheeks. To his credit, he refrained from choking on his own breath and stuttering out some lame denial, instead scoffing as if that wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do.

“Fuck off.” Not his best comeback, admittedly, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

Draco continued getting changed and heard Harry getting up behind him, doing the same. He had just finished tying his tie when he heard Harry rummaging around and muttering to himself in frustration. He turned around and immediately regretted it when he saw Harry half dressed, bent over his bedside table. For about the hundredth time in the last 24 hours, Draco felt heat rise to his cheeks as he watched Harry’s shoulder blades shift under his skin.

_Pull yourself together. It’s just his back, what’s wrong with you?_

And then Harry turned around and Draco wondered what the universe had against him. Years of playing quidditch and being fed by the endless amounts of food at Hogwarts had rid Harry of his bony body and transformed it into a strong, muscular frame. Draco had imagined what Harry looked like without a shirt countless times but having it confirmed that he was just as perfect as he expected him to be was a torture Draco never expected to experience.

He tore his eyes from Harry’s chest and to his face and realised Harry was speaking. He was honestly proud that he was able to understand a word of it.

“Where are my glasses?” Harry said, clearly unaware of Draco’s internal crisis, whether because he couldn’t see the expression on his face or because he was just that oblivious.

Blocking out the wave of inappropriate thoughts that filled Draco’s mind, he averted his eyes and walked over to help Harry look for his glasses. Harry took a step aside, not putting nearly enough space between them. Draco scoffed as he leaned over and plucked Harry’s glasses up from where they sat on top of his book. “Merlin, how blind _are_ you?”

With a smirk he held them up and instead of giving them back, slid them onto his own nose.

“How the fuck is your eye sight so bad?” he teased, mainly to draw attention away from how flustered he felt, standing in front of a shirtless and pouting Harry.

“Give those back! I can’t see!” Harry said trying to snatch them back.

“Yeah, no shit.” Draco said. He automatically slapped Harry’s grabbing hands away but obligingly took them off, turned them around and placed them onto his face.

Harry scrunched his nose cutely, “Why are you so mean?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m an angel.”

“My mistake,” Harry laughed. They lapsed into a comfortable silence as Harry got dressed and Draco tidied his side of the room, straightening his sheets and folding his pyjamas. Harry had barely pulled his jumper over his head by the time Draco was reaching for the door handle and pulling it open. Harry rushed to follow, straightening his tie with one hand and tucking in his shirt with the other.

“Hey Draco?” There it was again. Harry saying his name, sending a thrill through Draco’s heart in a way only he could. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it. It felt like a privilege he had to hold on to and hope to never loose.

“What?”

“Do you want to eat breakfast together?” he asked, awkwardly.

“I’ve told you; I’m not sitting with your stupid Gryffindor friends. I have my own.” Draco said. He had in fact told Harry this when he had brought up the fact that he looked miserable every time he ate dinner. He resented that comment even if it was in fact true and also implied that Harry had been watching him.

“No, not in the Great Hall.”

He opened his mouth and was about to say something along the lines of ‘Where else are we going to get food, you idiot?’ Instead, he sighed and shook his head, breathing out a resigned “Ok.”

He’d learnt to just go with it when it came to Harry and his weird behaviour.

—

When they got to the entrance hall at the bottom of the main staircase, Draco almost expected Harry to say he’d changed his mind and walk straight into the great hall. Instead, he steered Draco to the left into a flow of Hufflepuff’s and through the door they had just come through. Harry was seemingly unaware of the suspicious looks they, or more specifically Draco, were getting and continued on confidently like he knew exactly where he was going. Behind the door was a stone staircase; they descended until they entered a brightly lit basement corridor.

“Why are we going to the Hufflepuff common room?” Draco finally asked.

“We aren’t.”

“Then where-” Draco said with exasperation before Harry cut him off.

“Just wait and see.”

They turned one last corner and Draco almost walked into Harry as he stopped suddenly in front of a wall of food-themed paintings. Harry expertly reached forward, as if he’d done this a thousand times, towards a painting with a silver bowl filled with fruit and tickled the pear. Before Draco could ask if he’d gone mental, the fruit transformed into a green door handle. He twisted it and pulled, revealing a room almost identical to the Great Hall if it weren’t for its contents.

House-elves were rushing around, setting up the four large tables in the centre of the room. The overwhelming smell of sausage, bacon, egg, toast and more filled his nose as he stepped into the room. It made his stomach rumble with hunger.

One of the elves, who had previously been placing a plate of sausages on the Ravenclaw table, noticed them and immediately hurried over. “Harry Potter, sir! How lovely to see you! Can we get you anything?”

“Is it alright if we sit down here for breakfast? We won’t get in your way I promise.”

“Yes! Anything for Harry Potter, sir!” the elf nodded over enthusiastically, rushing off to get them some plates and telling the other elves to set up a table for them. Harry started to protest, to tell them that they could do it themselves but gave up when he realised he was being ignored.

Draco watched this interaction with curiosity, wondering how many times Harry had done this before. When Harry looked his way, he schooled his features into an unimpressed expression. Harry just shrugged and grinned, picking up two plates and pushing one into his hands.

“Come on.” Harry walked up to the table full of food that hadn’t been sorted through yet and started filling up his plate. Neither spoke as they piled up their plates, Draco with more uncertainty than Harry.

“Are you sure it’s alright for me to take this?”

“Of course, it is. Why wouldn’t it?”

“Well, they didn’t offer _me_ any.”

“Stop complaining and take the bloody food,” Harry said with exasperation. “You’d be eating it upstairs anyway.”

“Wasn’t complaining,” he mumbled, pouring a spoonful of baked beans onto his plate.

Satisfied with their portions, they sat at the table that had been set out for them as the elves ran around cleaning up. The food had vanished from the tables, transported up into the Great Hall above them.

“Is this... something you do a lot? Eating down here?” Draco asked. Harry seemed like he’d been down here before, he even knew some of the elves by name, and Draco was curious why.

“Not really. I used to visit Dobby a lot... when he worked here.” Harry’s good mood seemed to dampen considerably at the mention of the dead elf and Draco was reminded of how different he and Harry really were. He hadn’t thought about his old house elf since the last time he’d seen him. Harry on the other hand clearly cared just as much about the loss of a lowly elf as he did about the death of another wizard. And although Draco found it odd, he couldn’t help the twinge of sympathy at the sight of Harry’s small frown.

“I’m sorry about what happened to him. He was a good elf,” Draco said, trying not to sound awkward.

“You remember Dobby?”

“Of course. I remember all my house elves.” This was true, out of everyone in his family Draco was the one who treated the elves the best. Though he didn’t see this as an act of kindness but rather the result of disinterest. Having grown up with house elves, he hardly noticed their presents. But unlike his father he had never harmed them and would refuse to punish them when they made a mistake. He had never enjoyed violence.

Harry hummed around a mouth full of food in acknowledgement. He dropped the subject and they ate in a comfortable silence for a while. Draco was enjoying being able to eat without feeling like people were glaring at him. He could get used to this. He wished they could do this every day but he knew Harry would rather be with Hermione and Ron, there was really no point in suggesting it.

Their plates were clear and they were getting ready to go to class by the time Draco spoke again. “How’s quidditch practice going?”

“Good, we’ve got our first game next week.”

“Who against?”

“Ravenclaw,” Harry paused, fiddling with his sleeve and avoiding his eye. “Are you going to watch?”

He looked up at Draco with wide hopeful eyes and Draco was forced to reconsider the answer he was about to give.

“I wasn’t planning on it... Pans and Blaise probably won’t,” Draco said. Honestly, he didn’t want to. It would only make him feel left out and he had no one to sit with anyway. But Harry’s hopeful expression fell into disappointment and Draco couldn’t resist his pout if he tried. “But I guess I could go on my own…”

Harry’s face lit up again and despite himself Draco’s lips twitched into a smile. Something about Harry wanting him there supporting him made his heart grow about three sizes.

“Great! I could lend you my Gryffindor jumper and you can cheer me on.” Harry teased as he casually slung an arm around Draco's shoulder, something he had formed a habit of doing in the past few weeks. It never lasted long, the angle was too awkward since Harry was a few inches shorter than him, but he always enjoyed the brief feeling nonetheless.

"Don't push it," Draco scolded.

Harry started leading them back towards the doors but before they could reach them, an owl suddenly flew out from the big fireplace taking up half of one wall, a letter clutch in its beak. Draco automatically held out his elbow for the owl to land and took the offered letter. The owl belonged to his family so it wasn’t a surprise when he turned it over and saw the curling letters of his mother’s hand writing. _Fuck._ He had completely forgotten. He hadn’t replied to the last letter his mother had sent him, though he had fully intended to. It must have slipped his mind.

Draco thought of his mother, all alone in the manor with no one to talk to and nothing to keep her mind occupied. At least he now had Harry (whatever ‘had’ actually meant), but she had no one. He’d been sending her letters every week and she’d responded to every one straight away. He wished he was a better son. A better son would have insisted he stayed with her instead of abandoning her to go back to school. A better son would wright her every day. But he’d been distracted. And he found he didn’t really know what to tell her about what he’d been doing and how he was. He couldn’t exactly tell her he’d been spending most of his time pining after Harry Potter and thinking about him non stop. He could hardly find the words to put on the blank parchment every week beyond asking how she was and reporting how his classes were going. 

“Who’s it from?” Harry asked, not so subtly peaking over his shoulder at the envelope.

“No one,” Draco scowled, sliding the letter into his pocket, promising himself he would write an extra long reply as soon as classes were over. Harry scoffed but didn’t push him to answer and, even if Draco would have told him if he had, he appreciated it.

“Come on, Flitwick will kill us if we’re late to her class again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't posted in so long but I've been really busy. I finally got all my assignments done so now I have time to write again!  
> I hope you enjoyed this and I promise I won't make you wait too long for the next chapter.  
> (Just as a side note: I now have two kittens and one of them is named Pepper!)


End file.
